


An Immortal in Jedi Robes

by Cyberbutterfly



Category: Highlander: The Series, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Complex friendships and canon relationships, EVENMOOR IS NOW CO-AUTHOR, Evenmoor and the Plot Bunnies made me do this, Methos adopts clones, Methos is a Librarian and occassionally a very dangerous man, Methos is older than Everything, OC Characters from other people's Fandoms, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Used with permission
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2018-07-25 09:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 27,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7526761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyberbutterfly/pseuds/Cyberbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos has lived countless live over endless years- with all the memories and training that goes along with that existence. Now he's a Librarian in the Jedi order. It goes as well as you might expect.<br/>*NOW CO-AUTHORED WITH THE LOVELY ASSISTANCE OF EVENMOOR*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Omega Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Evenmoor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenmoor/gifts).



> This is Canon compliant to the movies (new and old) and general facts about the Star Wars universe. (I have only read 2 of the thousands of official novels that have been written about this universe- so cinema is the only place I promise continuity)  
> Well, EXCEPT for the ‘A long time ago’ part of the galaxy far, far away. It’s got flying cars, androids, holograms, space battles and laser swords. It’s in the future because I like the idea of it being Methos' future.

**Authors Notes** : The fact that this fic exists at all is the complete and total fault of ‘Evenmoor’ (found on Ao3 Fanfiction). She put it in my head that Methos as a Jedi was a perfectly logical and wonderful idea and, once in, that idea just refused to leave. Please go and read her story ‘Sweet Moments Set Aside for Us’. She is an awesome author and that story has a little something for everyone.

Each chapter will be set in the same universe as every other one, but not set in any chronological order or even have connecting points. Prompts will be encouraged and accepted. But understand that I am horrible at writing romance so it will be background at most.

The idea of Methos being basically ‘ancient and timeless’ and always 5000 years old isn’t mine either. So, Tigriswolf- many thanks to you for writing all your stories. The inspiration you provided has been firmly stuck in my head since the first time I read your fictions. Also many thanks to LitaJ for informing me that 'Tigriswolf' was the author I was looking for. I couldn't remember the name for the life of me and she read this chapter and pointed me in the right direction. Thanks!

* * *

 

He was 5000 years old.

At least that’s what he would claim. If anyone asked the right series of questions- with the right amount of pressure and lack of escape options- he would eventually, reluctantly tell them he was 5000 years old.

( _Very few people asked the right series of questions in the right kind of environment, and he did not volunteer the information. Ever._ )

The main thing to ensure was that he was always 5000 years old. Because, while it was a large number- a number that had true weight- it was still small enough that people could accept it with only the proper amount of incredulity.

( _One had come close to almost figuring out the truth. But that little green troll had a knack for sideways questions and strange thoughts coupled with the vaguest understanding of what it was like to watch a universe change while you didn’t; so he allowed the creature his musings and revealed nothing._ )

When Earth had first been settled he was 5000 years old. When people forgot where they’d come from and all they knew of the universe was a small planet in a forgotten galaxy he’d been 5000 years old. Then the rise of the pyramids, the fall of countless civilizations and empires- some by his hand, some by others; it didn’t matter. Followed by the age of the super powers, information highways and digital living, and then suddenly back out into space and the realization that they were only one small part of a very large whole. He had been 5000 years old through it all, sitting and watching and recording everything.

( _And he had laughed because history rewinding itself to that extent was a fresh enough experience to be entertaining. To make him feel young again in a way he’d forgotten was possible._ )

He told the ones who knew and begged- with the right application of alcohol- stories of his current 5000 years. And some of them would be lies and some of them would be almost true. Most of them would fall somewhere in-between. He would talk of the rise of the New Republic and how it eventually fell and became the ‘Old Republic’ in the face of the Newest Republic. They would laugh at his rants about how the more things changed the more they stayed the same. And they would come to settle in their knowledge of him and bestow quaint nicknames and deem him ‘mostly harmless’ as he sat, and watched, and recorded what he saw.

( _And generally tried to live up to the description people gave him because it was so much easier and cleaner than blood and war. And he had been 5000 years old when he finally learned that lesson the painfully hard way_.)

Besides, it was what he enjoyed. What he was good at. Life as a scholar was always more pleasant, and less murderous, than any of the alternatives. It allowed him to exist on the side lines; aware of the game but not actually playing it. That was the true art to survival. Live long enough to realize the purpose of existence wasn’t to play a role, but to record everyone’s part so future generations could learn without the annoyance of being a part of it.

( _And gods, he wished one day they **would** learn. It had to happen. Certainly not during this century, but eventually the rules of exceptions had to happen, didn’t it?_ )

His name was Methos. And it was also Mi’thes, Elim G’Kar, Achillas, Teos, Chaeremon, Loki, Ben, Tanith, Adam, Doctor, and so many more. He is- and was, and would be again- a scholar, warrior, teacher, student, master, slave, soldier, barbarian, healer, tyrant, traveler, hermit and so much more. And as the Old Republic burned in the face of the New Empire he sat, and watched, and recorded everything he saw.

And he was 5000 years old.


	2. Too Old to Die Young

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off of 1 of 2 prompts from Evenmoor.  
> Prompt: "Qui-Gon, I honestly liked you when you were alive, your ridiculous long hair notwithstanding, but unlike you I don't actually have a death wish.”
> 
> To understand this chapter you MUST read chapter 93 of Evenmoor’s story ‘Sweet Moments Set Aside for Us’ and her follow up story ‘Rebellion is for the Young’.
> 
> The character of Sever, and Methos himself is based off of those stories and is used with permission by Evenmoor. (Thank you!)
> 
> You know, I really intended this to be light hearted and almost crackish chapter… It didn’t do that. Next prompt of yours, Evenmoor. That one will be pure hysteria. Promise.

  
"No."  
  
"But—"  
  
"— **NO**! Absolutely not. It's a horrible idea, and I'm ashamed to know someone who would suggest it."  
  
Beside him said ghost sighed as he paced in a small circle before coming back to face him. Methos simply kept wiping down the bar.  
  
"The man is a monster, and people are dying because of it," the spirit of Qui-Gon Jinn insisted.  
  
Methos scrubbed the bar harder as he resorted to his most effective dismissal technique: apathy.  
  
"Evil overlord or not, people are still going to keep dying. It's an unfortunate side effect of living for most individuals. Besides, the Empire will have its moment and then it will be gone. Regimes rise and fall all the time; after the hundredth one, I stopped concerning myself with the details."  
  
He didn't know how it was possible for a transparent Force ghost to loom, but somehow this one pulled it off. Leave it to Jinn to be so obnoxious.  
  
"Is that why you spent so long watching the Sith's plan unfold and did nothing?"  
  
Methos snorted and rolled his eyes.  
  
"Yes, because, clearly, a building full of Force-trained precognitives, some of whom talked with the then-Chancellor everyday, and still failed to notice a damn thing would naturally heed the ravings of one lowly librarian. A librarian, by the way, who nobody actually _liked_!"  
  
He threw down the cloth in annoyance and turned to face the ghostly Jedi.  
  
"Yes, I've seen enough power play manoeuvres to know how to read the broad strokes, but that doesn't mean I'd been sent a play-by-play memo or anything. Believe me, the whole incident with the clones and Order 66 took me just as much by surprise as anyone else."  
  
When the ghost spoke next, his voice was soft, almost pleading.  
  
"Maybe there was nothing you could have done before all of this, but that doesn't mean there isn't something you could do now."  
  
Methos sighed and rubbed his eyes, partially in frustration, and partially because he knew the answer wasn't going to be anything the former man wanted to hear.  
  
"Qui-Gon, I honestly liked you when you were alive, your ridiculous long hair notwithstanding, but unlike you I don't actually have a death wish."  
  
"You forget, death offers a unique perspective," Qui-Gon replied wryly. "I may not know everything, but I learned more about you than almost everyone living is aware. If you could separate the Emperor from his guard detail and face him one on one- you would more than likely win!"  
  
"Win, yes. Survive, no." Methos looked up at the ceiling, staring at Qui-Gon through the side of his eyes. He could see the man frowning in confusion. "You don't know as much about me as you think."  
  
He waved a hand at the bar, hoping the dead Jedi would understand and then leave him the hell alone.  
  
"I _like_ who I currently am, Jinn. I'm comfortable with this life… And I'm still reading the broad strokes. Our current Emperor is too much of a racist, egotistical ass to last long. If one of his own people doesn't kill him, then some bloody kid with delusions of grandeur and an excessive sense of morals will more than likely pull it off."  
  
Methos sighed and pointed at himself.  
  
"If I fight him, I'll have to go back to being something much worse to pull it off."  
  
"Worse?"  
  
Methos turned to look at the Force ghost and allowed a little of the mask fall away, revealing a hint of the depth underneath.  
  
"Life was hard when I was young, and for a very long time after that fact, to be honest. The very first lesson I learned was when you went up against something bad you beat it by being worse."  
  
He didn't know ghosts could grow pale, but Qui-Gon managed it. Methos looked away again, replacing his defenses as memories filtered through his mind.  
  
He let them; let himself remember the cries of worship, the sacrifices offered in his name. He remembered the heat boiling from the sand and the flames, the bitter iron tang of blood on the air, and the battle cries of a thousand thousand wars. He remembered his brothers at his back and all those who burned and bled at their whims… He forced himself to relieve those moments, because to forget would be to lose everything, and that would be unforgivable. An ancient passage ran through his head, and he found himself quoting it out loud.  
  
"'And I looked, and behold, a pale horse. And its rider's name was Death, and hell followed close behind him.'"  
  
The ghost of Qui-Gon Jinn just stared silently at him for a long moment.  
  
"What are you?" he finally asked, almost curiously.  
  
Methos's grin was bitter.  
  
"Someone who is far too old to die young… Your new universal order will come soon enough, Master Jinn; but let it start at the hands of someone better than me."  
  
Methos gave him another smile. It wasn't entirely a happy one, but it was honest. He nodded to the door.  
  
"Now I'm going to finish cleaning, and you are going to leave. Don't let the door pass through your transparent arse on the way out."  
  
Qui-Gon turned, as if he was going to say something, and then he stopped and simply offered him a nod and a small smile of his own. Methos blinked, and when he opened his eyes, the man was gone. He turned as he heard Sever entering from the back, the smell of takeaway wafting around him. The clone saw Methos watching him and held up the bags with an easy, if weary, smile.  
  
"I'd rather be kriffing shot than cook a meal after the week we've had… Got us a mix from that restaurant you like down the street."  
  
"That's why you were always my favourite," grinned Methos.  
  
Sever snorted in derision.  
  
"You always were a cheap date… Come on; get the bar sorted while I dish this out. If you're good, I'll even let you pick the holo tonight. Even if you do have dwang taste in vids."  
  
"That one was a classic, I'll have you know," Methos sniffed pretentiously.  
  
Sever waved a dismissive hand.  
  
"Keep telling yourself that. Now move your ass before this gets cold."  
  
"I aim to please."  
  
"Oh, but I could only wish."  
  
Methos smiled and sent the clone's back a significant hand gesture as he walked away to their shared apartment. Not that the man could see it, but it was the principle of the thing. Then he finished cleaning and reached up to grab two bottles of the better brew they had imported before walking off to join his friend. What he'd been in the past was over, what he would become he didn't know. For now, he was a bartender.  
  
Good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm leaving Sever and Methos relationship ambiguous on purpose. Wrote them as being best buds, then realized there was enough of a slant for it to be read as them being a couple. Slant it however you wish because either way works. Just don't expect me to write anything of slash (M/F or M/M) because I'm crap at it.


	3. Just Walked In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next few chapters are my experiments at writing SMALL chapters (around 200 words or less). Evenmoor has a great ability to tell a LOT of story in 100 or less, and I'm trying to train myself to do close to the same.  
> SO... Set my walkman on 'all songs', hit shuffle, and used the next ten songs as titles and inspiration for 10 short stories. This is the first of them.  
> Told you the next one would be crack. :)

_I woke up this mornin' with the sundown shinin' in_

_I found my mind in a brown paper bag within_

_I tripped on a cloud and fell-a eight miles high_

_I tore my mind on a jagged sky_

_I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in._

**Just Dropped In- Kenny Rogers**

* * *

 

 

In reflection it had probably been an extremely stupid thing of him to do. Hysterical, but stupid. To be fair, Methos hadn’t been aware how much of a lightweight Kenobi was until _after_ he’d gave him a glass of the strongest alcohol the bar had. He’d simply wanted to see what would happen when the usually uptight, self righteous Jedi’s inhibitions were shrugged off enough for him to finally pull that stick out of his ass.

And granted, this was probably going to eventually end with said Jedi plotting revenge, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this hard. It wasn’t every day you saw the famed ‘Negotiator’ busting out his best moves with a **very** willing Lasat and Twi-Lek while singing karaoke.

And wouldn’t you know? Methos just happened to have a holo recorder on him.

The blackmail possibilities alone were _fantastic_.


	4. Sympathy for the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter in a series where I set walkman on shuffle and write songs according to 10 that came up. Also practicing writing shorter chapters.

_Please allow me to introduce myself_

_I’m a man of wealth and taste._

_I’ve been around for a long, long year_

_Stole many a man’s soul to waste._

**Sympathy for the Devil- The Rolling Stones**

* * *

 

 

He poured himself another drink as he sat down to wait. It was an amazingly expensive vintage and it burned oh-so-elegantly as it went down.

Truth be told, he didn’t have any intention of killing the man, no matter what current appearances might suggest. Fractured, corrupt officials scrambling for dominance in an open power vacuum always did more damage than the tyrants that first created them.

But he could count on one hand the number of people he consider friends and he guarded them jealously. Recently two had come under threat for no other reason than being at the wrong place at the wrong time, and one- the dearest to him- had been outright killed. He intended to correct the situation in the most direct way as possible, by giving the Empire a damn good reason to leave said friends alone permanently.

After this he would gather his ‘brood’ and safely secure them in a distant corner of the universe for a decade or two while he gave the imperials something to truly worry about.

He looked up as the man of the hour walked in, already on guard and plotting strategy as he looked at the numerous guards that lay in smoking black ruins around his private quarters.

He stood up and the man's attention snapped completely to him. The Sith immediately tensed and he could see the hatred and wariness in the man's eyes. He’d gone back to an old persona for this little meeting, one which he thought would highlight just how worried the Sith emperor should be. He laid his modified vibro-sword casually on the table in front of him.

Darth Mortem, High Lord to the former Sith Empire, smiled; and made sure it showed teeth.

“Good evening, Emperor Palpatine… I believe its time you and I had a little chat.”


	5. Sing Me to Sleep

_Sing me to sleep,_

_Sing me to sleep,_

_I’m tired and I_

_Want to go to bed_

_Sing me to sleep,_

_Sing me to sleep_

**Sing Me to Sleep- Emily Browning**

* * *

 

Yoda paused at the entrance crèche as he heard the soft, beautifully pitched voice slowly faded away. He smiled gently and then continued through into the room softening the tap of his walking stick as he entered. Jedi Master Methos was sitting in the middle of the floor, cradling one small child in his arms while three more used his legs as pillows, and several others lay curled close to him on the floor. It was not unusual for them to meet this way, and Yoda had long ago admitted to himself that he was just as eager to hear more of the old stories and songs the historian shared as the younglings were.

Methos saw his expression and offered him a shrug as he pitched his voice in low tones.

“Neera started presenting a talent for precognitive dreams a few days ago. It hasn’t exactly made sleep a joyful event. The rest of the lot just heard me singing and decided to join.”

Yoda hummed thoughtfully as he reached out a hand and touched the child’s forehead, gently sending a wave of peace through the force, sending the girl into a deeper sleep.

“Difficult the experience is, comfort and security the girl requires. Good it is that you are present. Cared for and loved by elders it’s important for the younglings to know.”

The Jedi shrugged again.

“Yeah, well… Kids are easy- and fun.”

Methos broke into a mischievous smile Yoda had come to know well on the strange Jedi.

“And they take bribes. Bit of attention, couple of stories and a cookie or two and I’ve got all the minions I’ll ever need to take this temple right out from under you.”

He twitched his ears, displaying interest as he raised an eyebrow and offered the man a wry smile.

“Oh? Succeed in your devious plot you may… Enjoy managing life at temple and the council in my stead, you will not.”

“Ooh, hadn’t thought of that. Alright, I’ll just use them as convenient helpers. Keep your damn ruling class.”

Yoda chuckled softly. Then thought back to the strange words the man had been singing.

“Curious I am, what language for the song was used?”

He watched as Methos expression seemed to go somewhere far away, and the man sighed.

“Just another forgotten language from an abandoned world. But I always loved the way that language flowed when it was put to song. Seemed like a waste not to share it.”

Yoda patted the man’s shoulder before nestling himself into the midst of the children, humming an old tune of his own he remembered from childhood. He hadn’t missed the way Methos reflected on the language, like it wasn’t an ancient dialect that he’d discovered but one the man had experience when it was alive and vibrant. One more piece of a very large and complicated puzzle. Yoda shook his head and turned his attention back to the younglings.

That was another question for another time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head canon believes that Methos enjoys and is good with kids. I can't explain why I believe this. Also, I am thinking that he is singing them an Egyptian lullaby. But almost anything works- so insert favourite ancient language here.


	6. Bad Moon Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ties into Chapter 4. It is actually the reason for the events in chapter 4.

_Hope you’ve got your things together_

_Hope you’re quite prepared to die_

_Looks like we’re in for nasty weather_

_One eye is taken for an eye_

_Don’t go around tonight_

_Well it’s bound to take your life_

_There’s a bad moon on the rise_

**Bad Moon Rising- Palestra**

* * *

 

He could sense everything.  
  
He could sense the way his blood moved inside him. He could sense the way the breeze blew across the landscape. He could sense the heat from the flames a short distance away. He could sense Sever's annoyance as the clone tended to a nasty cut on his neck. He could even sense how disturbed the Force was.  
  
But he couldn't _feel_ anything.  
  
All he could feel was the absence, the emptiness, where a friend used to reside. All he could see was the way the blood slowly cooled around her headless body. And he knew that whoever had killed her knew about Immortals.  
  
More importantly, they knew about _her_.  
  
He remembered the frantic, scrambled message she'd sent them four days ago. How she talked about twisted adepts and how someone had started the program again, new names to an old story.  
  
(Two by two, hands of blue… Would that still apply? So much had changed, had that as well?)  
  
He stood there and stared and imagined what could have been had they been just a day (an hour, a few minutes) earlier.  
  
He didn't turn when Sever came over; he didn't move when the clone gently placed her head above her body, he tried not to flinch when Sever spoke the Mandalorian Death Rites over his one-time friend and fallen rebel soldier. Sever stood up and moved to stand next to him.  
  
"She was a dancer. It made her beautiful when she fought."  
  
"You knew her."  
  
It wasn't a question.  
  
"River. I told her it was suicide, but she was always 'River' no matter what life she lived."  
  
There was a pause and then Sever turned to face him.  
  
"What happens now, boss?"   
  
And then he started to feel. It was a cold, welcoming, familiar blackness that stole through his body and reminded him that he was only ever an observer by choice; participation was his whenever he desired it. Methos-- no, perhaps it was time to put on a darker mantel for what had to be done-- turned his head and stared into his commander's eyes. Soldier's eyes-- battle ready, killing, understanding eyes-- looked back at him.  
  
"Now we find out what the Inquisitor Organization is and every bastard who's a part of it and we burn it all straight to hell."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If your wondering why Methos just wouldn't kill Sidious for this when he had the chance, two reasons:  
> 1) He really does believe that killing Sidious without a firm order ready to take his place would destabilize the galaxy and cause a lot more chaos than keeping him alive.  
> 2) Methos' anger burns cold. Kill the man and he suffers once, quickly. Gradually burn the man's world down around him until nothing is left, and you kill him slowly by painful degrees.


	7. Ballroom Blitz- pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, on the walkman shuffle, I got 'Ballroom Blitz' as one of the songs. At first I thought 'what the hell can I do with this'. Then I actually looked up the lyrics. THEN my problem was deciding which lines to use as inspiration for the chapter (EVERY line works for well for the Clone Wars) So.... I decided to use all of them. Then I decided to break the chapter up, because you would have been another 6 months getting this if I hadn't.
> 
> None of these characters are mine. I still blame Evenmoor for this fiction. It's all her fault.

* * *

 

_Oh it ’s been getting so hard_

_Living with the things you do to me. _

__  
_ _

"You can't be serious… I mean, this is just all a sick joke, right? Thousands of Jedi to choose from, and you elect to send **me** as the official representative of the Jedi Order?!"  
  
It wasn't that Methos objected to getting out of the overly stuffy temple. And he honestly liked the people and planet in question. (They didn't care what you did as long as you cleaned up the mess, and the local brew was practically nostalgia-inducing.)   
  
"I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm _thrilled_ that you've all managed to finally develop a sense of humour…"  
  
But the truth was he had no intention of getting involved in this damn war. Bad enough to stand here knowing it was a sham -- therefore rendering victory pointless -- without actually having to play a bloody part in it. (The first time a Clone Trooper ever called him 'sir,' he'd jolted in horror and told the man to never do that again.)  
  
"...but is now really the time to be giving it a test run?"  
  
The council just started at him. Intently. The kind of stare that only people who spend most of their lives sitting around bickering at each could achieve. The kind that burrowed through into the back of one's skull and whispered of worse assignments. (Like scrubbing bathrooms or-- heaven forbid-- being forced to transcribe the Council meeting minutes.)  
  
Methos whined, making sure to stamp his foot a little. (Because if it was worth doing, it was worth doing in a way that would irritate the hell out of these people).  
  
"Do I have to?"  
  
Mace Windu narrowed his eyes, either annoyed at the fact that he was arguing with them over an 'all important' mission (that, apparently, had to be secured at all cost lest the Republic burn to the ground overnight. Never mind the fact the trade route would probably be irrelevant in a month when the war shifted to another system)  
  
Or he could have been annoyed at the 'whiny brat up two hours past his bedtime' tone Methos had asked with. More than likely, it was a magical mix of both those things, tossed in with the fact that Mace, shockingly, didn't seem to like him… then combined with the discomfort with whatever stick the man had up his ass today.  
  
Windu ground his teeth and glared.  
  
"Yes. You do."  
  
"Fine. But, for the record: you people suck," Methos huffed.  
  
The damn little green troll had the audacity to look smug.

* * *

 

_My dreams are getting so strange_

_I’d like to tell you everything I see. _

__

Obi-Wan was being stared at. He was sitting in a corner of the mess, looking over reports and casually sipping his morning tea. And he was being stared at.   
  
He looked up and almost jumped out of his skin upon seeing Master Methos seated in the next chair, leaning towards him and looking at him as if his face held the deepest secrets of the universe. Obi-Wan leaned back and blinked.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
Master Methos narrowed his eyes studiously.  
  
"Don't ever shave your head… I mean, you'd be fine with short hair, and the beard could go without too much fanfare-- but a buzz cut should never grace your head. The look ends up somewhere between 'terminally ill' and 'addict,'" Methos insisted with apparent and total sincerity.  
  
Obi-Wan blinked, utterly baffled by the total non-sequitur.  
  
"What...?"  
  
"Now, the tattoos work. Not necessarily the Hello Kitty tat on the ankle, but the skull wearing a polka dot bow on its head was cool. And the etching of 'Sith Happens' on your left butt cheek was awesome. You should definitely get them. I know a guy on Mandalore who does fantastic work with pearlescent dyes that could do both of for a very reasonable price."  
  
Obi-Wan blinked. Thought a moment, then blinked again.  
  
"...What?!"  
  
"But, seriously, I know this war is taxing everyone to the breaking point, and if shaving your head and getting a few tattoos helps you to keep it sane, well, I understand. But there's got to be a line and I think the public strip tease routines on your R&R is a desperate cry for help. At least do it in one of the classier joints."   
  
Obi-Wan attempted to speak, but Methos cut in.  
  
"--I have to say though, I would have never thought you could pull off a sexy pole dance to 'Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap,' so points given where points are earned."  
  
Obi-Wan opened his mouth, only to have the other Jedi jump in again.   
  
"But no, the real elephant in the room was what happened after. It doesn't matter what someone like that offers, Obi-Wan-- you've got to keep your pride. And engaging in that kind of behavior with an Askervarian?! Kenobi, you're better than that."  
  
Obi-Wan didn't even blink this time; he just stared. Hard.  
  
_"...What?!"_   
  
Methos held up his hands placatingly.  
  
"All I'm saying is that if you ever want to talk, I'm here."  
  
Obi-Wan watched him walk out, still staring.  
  
Methos chuckled to himself as he exited the mess hall, bumping into Sever in the corridor. Before the clone commander could speak, however, he was jolted as Obi-Wan shouted from the room.  
  
**"WHAT?!?"**  
  
Methos turned and grinned at Sever. His commander simply rolled his eyes and sighed.  
  
"You went and broke another Jedi, didn't you."  
  
The Jedi slapped the clone trooper's shoulder with false sincerity.  
  
"Sever, I'm telling you, when you happen to have a dream as ridiculously stupid and bizarre as I had last night, and when it also happens to center around a person you know, there is a fundamental responsibility to share that dream with said person, while being sure to include absolutely _no_ context whatsoever."  
  
"Worth it, sir?"  
  
Methos's grin widened.  
  
"Better than therapy and a hell of a lot cheaper."

* * *

 

_Oh, I see a man in the back as a matter of fact_

_And his eyes are as red as the sun. _

 

The damnable part was he just wasn't sure. Not completely. Politicians weren't shining examples of morality at the best of times, so standing on the outskirts of the gathering contemplating that one of them might not entirely have the Republic's best interests at heart was redundant at best.   
  
Still. Kenobi was sensing it too.  
  
Oh, not in any direct way, but it was there and evident for Methos to see.   
  
He'd joined the boy and his padawan on the first mission they'd had as a pair and it hadn't taken long for Methos to see the measure of the man now that he wasn't under Qui-Gon Jinn's figurative-- and literal-- shadow. He'd been impressed.   
  
And disheartened; but that was a reflection for a different day.   
  
Afterwards, Methos told Kenobi he fully intended to make sure all his future missions were assisted by the duo. The young Jedi Knight had one of the best 'early warning canary' senses he'd ever seen.  
  
Still not altogether secure in his role as a newly-minted knight, Obi-Wan seemed to think he was being teased and reacted passively defensive. Methos didn't press further, but the statement remained true: Kenobi had a natural instinct for incoming threats. But unlike the canary in the coal mine, he didn't just lay down and die. No, this young knight rushed headlong in, taking the brunt of the threat in an attempt to protect.   
  
Case in point: the current 'meet and greet' hosted by the Senate, who had asked the Jedi to be there both as representatives and as guards against potential threats  
  
Obi-Wan was clearly a good choice and had a knack for convoluted conversation (the only kind offered by members of Parliament), so he and his padawan had begun to mingle. Then they were approached by Him, and Methos watched as Kenobi stepped slightly in front of his padawan in a mildly protective gesture as he did everything to keep the attention away from the boy and on him.  
  
The canary had sensed a threat-- and was acting on it unconsciously.   
  
It only took a few minutes before the knight was gently leading his student away, putting distance between them and the danger. Methos watched them retreat from his corner on the balcony before turning back to the man.   
  
Who was looking up at him.  
  
Methos had once been bitten by a Corellian coiled-grass snake. It was small, looked harmless bordering on 'cute,' and its fangs were tiny. This snake also has a highly potent, high volume, slow-releasing toxin that had taken two agonizing days to flush from his system, even Immortal as he was.  
  
Methos offered the man a tight smile and a nod. The man smiled back and turned as another political figure demanded the man's attention.  
  
The man didn't have green scales, he had pale, wrinkled skin and gray hair. His eyes weren't red, they were a bleached blue. He didn't slink around on his belly, but walked upright and proud. He didn't hiss, he spoke softly and shaped the fabric of politics.  
  
No, Chancellor Palpatine didn't seem dangerous, but every time Methos heard him speak, or saw him in a crowd he couldn't help his immediate reaction.  
  
**Snake.**

 


	8. Ballroom Blitz- pt 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note: Well, this was different then intended. So, few notes about what’s going on. First, this is about 1 month before Ahsoka leaves the Jedi Order, and about 3-4 months before everything goes to hell and the Republic becomes the Empire.
> 
> Also, a Kheltar is the equivalent of 1 Kilometre. Roughly about 3400 feet.
> 
> Thanks again to Evenmoor for beta'ing for me. This chapter would not be what it was without her.

_ There’s a girl in the corner let no one ignore her _

_ ‘Cause she thinks she’s the passionate one _

__

**Lyrics from Ballroom Blitz**

* * *

 

 

"But that's just not true! The Jedi have never, and will never, condone the use of slaves!"  
  
"Oh? How noble of them… What about when government sanctions get thrown in?"  
  
"Uh, no… Never mind personal opinions or government pressure, we're talking basic theology. We are taught from the crèche that all life is sacred, that everyone deserves the opportunity to live free lives. You can't be a Jedi and abide with slavery."  
  
"Including Clones?"  
  
"Personal belief? Especially the Clones."

He turned to look at the Togruta. She was small, and she had a weird mix of naïve belief and hardened resolve that was making it really difficult for him to decide what her age was. Still she was Jedi (or more likely a Padawan) and they were effective at any age. He quirked the side of his mouth up in an amused smile.  
  
"Again, how noble… But there's your theology and then there's reality, and it's amazing how little those two have in common."  
  
"Look, I'm not saying everyone believes the same. But to the Jedi, Clones are extended the same rights and privileges allowed to every other member of the Republic. You’re a Clone, ergo that applies to you."  
  
"Really?!"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Fine… In that case I formally tender my resignation as commander of Century Squad 6-8 and request that the current Acting Battalion Commander, that's you by the way, access the honourable discharge notification 28 dash 12 slash B here-to-which authorizing my release from the GAR. Pending acceptance into the Republic civilian sector, of course."  
  
Ahsoka blinked a few times, clearly trying to wrap her lekku around the mass of jargon he'd just thrown her way. Sever simply took a pull from his canteen and waited.  
  
Eventually she rubbed the back of her head with a sheepish wince.  
  
"Um… I don't know if I can? To be honest, I'm not even sure exactly what you said."  
  
He hummed thoughtfully and screwed the cap back on with a shrug.  
  
"Don't suppose you would. It's military double-speak for 'Here, sign this so I can get the hell out of here and go back home'… See, any Republic citizen can serve in the army provided they're deemed physically fit. That citizen signs an agreement that they will serve for a specific period of time- training schedule not included- after which they may choose to either continue service or be honourably discharged back into the civilian populace."  
  
Sever picked up his helmet, slipping it on his head and snapping his visor back down in one expert movement. After scanning the rocky terrain in the distance he took the bucket off and turned back to Ahsoka with a wry smile.  
  
"Care to guess what happens if a Clone walks?”  
  
He blamed Methos for this conversation even happening.

Well, actually he blamed whoever it was that let the kid pilot a damaged fighter to a potentially hostile planet and straight into the side of a rock. But considering the odds of her not only surviving but managing to be close enough to the one friendly located on this poor excuse of a mud-bowl, he figured she was lucky.  
  
Still, he was going to blame Methos for this anyway. Because most of the absurdity in his life resulted due to that slagger, and while he'd certainly inherited his cynicism from the man, he'd also gotten that bizarre protective instinct as well.  
  
And after spending more than two years as the voice of sanity by 'The Crazy Centurion's' side (and, boy was that a eyebrow-raising thought to anyone who'd spent any length of time with them) he'd come to discover there was very little left of the Kaminoan’s 'good soldier' programming. Mostly because Methos had a knack for cutting right through the bantha fodder and telling it exactly how it was.  
  
It was what made the Centurion Squad so unique among the Clones. They were the 'dark operations combatants,' the 'ghosts in the field'. Most times they went in and broke the enemy apart from the inside out and left without leaving any trace of being there. They had a training and mindset different from any other Clone in the GAR.  
  
It was also why a good many of their brothers avoided them. Most other squadrons didn't want to hear what the men of 6-8 had to say when the conversations got heavy.  
  
He sighed as he looked down at the Commander (and seriously, what the hell? They sent a kid- Jedi sure, but still- alone out into the middle of unprotected to look for danger. Who does that?!)  As she looked back up at him with a concentrated frown.  
  
"I… don't think I've ever heard of a Clone asking to leave the army."  
  
Sever raised an eyebrow. Of course they hadn't told her the dirty details. There were some things a kid, even one fighting in a warzone, didn't need to know. He snorted.  
  
"You wouldn't… First lesson each batch learns. You serve and you serve well. Failure to do so is a dereliction of duty and will be met with the Clone's immediate execution."  
  
Tano's brows shot so high they seemed to merge with her other facial markings. Sever caught the sight of a dust trail in the distance and put his helmet back on, locking in the trajectory with his visor. He shrugged.  
  
"Hard facts of life, kid… That order came straight down the Republic itself… We're property. We’re born because someone paid us to be. We’re trained in combat because necessity demanded us to be. We're the Republic's army because that's what's we're expected to be. We became the Jedi's blood brothers because that's what they asked us to be. And we've become this wars sword, shield, and sacrificial offering because that's all we know how to be."  
  
He heard the commander make a soft noise, but he was too busy focusing on the upcoming transport to look over and get a read on her full reaction. He picked up the sniper rifle and began to adjust the sights as her voice filtered through his helmet.  
  
"The Jedi don't believe that. We couldn't," she protested.  
  
He shrugged as he dialled in the sights further, narrowing down the parameters until he had the target locked.  
  
"Doesn't matter. Republic says 'jump' and the Jedi ask for recommended height… Don't get me wrong, there's not a Clone around that doesn't realize it'd be a lot worse if the Jedi weren't involved. But at the end of the day your still the ones giving orders that get us killed and we still don't have the option of saying 'no'."  
  
In all honesty, short as the few hours of conversation had been, Sever was starting to like the kid. For one, she was proving to have the patience needed for this kind of operation. She was also apparently funny, relatively smart, and had a particular brand of pragmatic ruthlessness that he respected as a by product of training via Methos. It's why he was going to make damn sure Commander Tano spent a few hours with the squadron meeting the man in person when they got back. They'd get along like a house on fire.  
  
Mostly because they'd be the ones having set it on fire, therefore using each other as alibis.  
  
He nudged the kid and she startled out of her thoughts.

"Eyes up, we've got inbound. You sure you can make the shot?"  
  
Sever had managed to secure a couple of the local colour’s weapons of choice. It wasn't his preferred weapon, but he was confident enough with the specs to know he would be able to pull this off. Most importantly, this was a long-range blaster rifle capable of firing the necessary rounds for a successful Op. Ahsoka was the more unknown factor. She shifted, lifting her body and shimmying up until she was beside him, and raised her own weapon.  
  
"Don't worry. Sky Guy, I mean Master Skywalker, takes the word 'unconventional' to new levels. He made sure I was equipped to handle whatever I might need to use to survive. When it comes to fighting, I've used everything from Sonic Blasters, to a Slugthrower, to a fork."  
  
Sever blinked and tilted his head towards her. Everyone knew about General Skywalker and the 501st Legion, but it was a bit different hearing about it firsthand.  
  
"A… fork? Now there's something that just screams 'tell me more.'"  
  
She gave him a wry smile before turning back and adjusting her own scope.  
  
"I'll tell you my best story, if you tell me yours… well, later."  
  
"Later it is… Okay, first off, use that cloth to your left and cover your head and weapon. The sun's shifted and there's a chance they could spot the glint off your scope."  
  
The kid cursed quietly and then grabbed the cloth, slipping it over the gun and her head. Sever checked and adjusted a little more before going back to his target.  
  
"Right, you see the third Troop Transport in?"  
  
"Got it."  
  
"See the patch of red markings on the side, just left of the front armour panel?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"When I give the order, take the shot. Bottom left where the reds been scratched away."  
  
"Waiting for 'go'."  
  
Sever counted down the klicks, waiting until everything was lined up just right. He could feel the moment they hit the sweet spot.  
  
"Hit it."  
  
Ahsoka, true to her word, nailed the target dead center, which happened to be the main battery powering the Transport's front air lifts. The front end immediately dropped towards the ground, causing the de-powered Clankers inside to shift, which swung the transport wide, driving it into the fuel transport right behind it.  
  
Sever watched as the fuel container impacted, grinding itself up into the air and exposing the one weak spot on the heavily armoured craft. He fired five shots. The first two were the primaries, putting 2 high-intensity incendiary rounds inside a container full of fuel cells. The third went going into the engine compartments of the MTT behind, causing a rupture, and the two others were random shots placed to make this look like an 'unlucky' accident cause by bandits after some credits.  
  
Two seconds after Ahsoka had fired, the now-destabilized fuel cells caused a chain reaction which engulfed the entire convoy in the explosion. The kid cursed and curled up defensively as they were pelted with small pieces of debris, as well as a wave of heat, that had made it out to them.  
  
Even Sever was mildly impressed, considering they were just under a Khelter away from the blast zone.  
  
After a second, he stood up, doing a fast little in-place jog to quickly work out the kinks his body had picked up while lying basically motionless for the better part of a day. Snitch's Intel was always accurate; he just didn't always have an exact time to go along with his reports of enemy troop movements.  
  
Still, any day that a single trooper (plus a mini-Jedi) could take out a battalion of Clankers and front line supplies with nothing more than 6 rounds and a kark-ton of patience was a good day in Sever's book. He nudged Tano with his foot.  
  
"Unless you want to walk your way back to the pick up point, you need to get up and move."  
  
She sprang up, looking around.  
  
"You've got transport."  
  
Sever snorted and rolled his eyes.  
  
"Nope, I crawled my way here. Help me grab the gear, kid.”

“Okay, that’s like the 15th time you’ve called me ‘kid’ today. You do realize that at 16 years old I’m 2 or 3 years older than you, right?”

Sever gave her a bland look.

“Yeah, well, age isn’t about actual numbers, it’s about experience. Yeah, you’re 16, but you spent all of that except for the last two and half years allowed to be a child.”

“So?”

“So… No Clone ever had a childhood. Oh, we may have looked like kids for a while- but we came out of our birth tanks cock, locked, and loaded. You had 14 years of relative innocence, and 2 years of watching it all go kriff up. Yes, I’m 14, but I’ve spent every minute of that time being the best leader, soldier, and killer I can be. Boss describes it as ‘putting on City Miles’; and that makes me the older by twelve years.”

He watched as she absorbed that, and then held out his hand to offer her a few of the supplies.

“How bout it, kid?”

She paused and then huffed out a small laugh, taking the items from him before narrowing her brows in though.  
  
"Wait, why are we taking the guns with us?"  
  
"We’re not, but we are dropping them off somewhere else."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Sever paused.  
  
"Reasons," he said vaguely.

He waved at the rock face behind, pointing out a small but negotiable path along its edge. He stared to walk and Ahsoka followed behind.

"As for your much earlier question, I've got a speeder tucked into a crevice on the other side. It'll carry the two of us fine. It's also a local build and modified to have next to no traceable mechanical signature, so the chance of any Tinnies zeroing in on us in this region will be low. I've got a drop zone with a pilot circling in the blue waiting to hop us out… Might not be able to get you back to your own Battalion for a few days, but you'll be with friendlies at least… Anything in the fighter of yours that ties you to it?"  
  
Ahsoka shook her head.  
  
"It was a stealth run. Non-Republic class flier and any evidence is either with me or a pile of ash in the wreck."  
  
"Good."  
  
For a few minutes they walked in silence, but whether that was because the kid was all talked-out or she wasn't used to the pace Sever had set for her, he didn't know. He did know he wanted both of them long gone before any of the Clankers came around to investigate. It would be worse if they ran into the planet's native populace.  
  
Going around the final corner, it took him a minute to realize Ahsoka had frozen behind him. He turned to look at her before following her eye line until it met up with a small campsite and five dead smugglers. She turned to look at him; he was no Jedi, but she didn't have to voice her thoughts in order for him to pick them up.  
  
Sever removed his helmet. The kid deserved eye contact for this.  
  
"You know what planet you hit, kid?"  
  
She shook her head.  
  
"Yarvis, which is knee-deep into Neutral Space. This planet was declared neutral territory by the locals and by galactic law the Republic has no operational authority here. Seps have been using these barrens as a supply stock up and jump point for their forces in the area; we knew it but couldn't prove it without coming here and causing enough of a scrape that the natives would probably join the Separatists out of spite."  
  
He tilted his head towards the bodies.  
  
"They actually were watching the transports, trying to figure out how to get at one. As far as this world will know, this was nothing but a bunch of thieves who just happened to shoot the wrong blaster at the wrong time. Of course they got mad because of it and a firefight broke out. Quick, clean, and efficient- and best of all, nothing that can be traced back to us. But now there's a big hole in the ground filled with smoking Tinnies and Sep tech... Ten credits says they side with the Republic by the end of the standard week."  
  
Sever reached out, taking the guns and few supplies from the Jedi, and jumped down the last couple of feet. He tossed one blaster slightly away from a woman lying on her back, and wrapped the weapon he'd used back into the hands of a man face down in the rubble, he scattered the rest in logical areas around the camp. Then he put his helmet back on and went over to uncover the speeder-bike.  
  
"This isn't right."  
  
Sever looked up and paused. Ahsoka looked younger. Smaller. Like someone who had just been told that all the things she believed in were lies. Sever sighed and felt bad for the kid, because that's what she was, right at this moment. Not a Commander, not a warrior, not a Jedi. She was a kid, and the universe was a pretty karked-up place for that kind of youth. He sighed again and powered up the machine.  
  
"Which part?"  
  
She waved a general hand.  
  
"Pick one. This place, these people, the war, the Clones… You. None of it is right."  
  
"Nope… But it's reality."

Sever slid onto the speeder, turning to look at Ahsoka, who hadn't moved from her spot. He sighed. He got where she was coming from, but he also knew they need to move. He motioned sharply to her and she startled, but quickly ran over, sliding in behind him and wrapping her arms around his mid-section in order to hang on. He slammed the speeder to full and took off, quickly getting lost in the landscape. Like they were never there.  
  
It took a good while before they reached the pick-up site. Once the bike was powered down Sever signalled to the ship, two quick burst of com chatter that wouldn't mean anything to anyone else. After a moment they could make out a small cargo transport coming towards them. The kid looked at him; Sever looked right back.  
  
"They've been doing legit cargo runs over the planet all day. Lets them stay in atmosphere without raising suspicion. They'll land here with the claim of landing leg refusing to lock into place, hence the stop for maintenance, and then we'll be gone."  
  
"Just another mission for Century Squadron's best, huh?"  
  
Sever waved his hand back and forth.  
  
"This one wasn't about the Republic. This one was about the fact that the Droids were currently, quietly stripping away planet resources while using this planet as a jump point. But that was just the beginning; they planned to start pulling its resources in mass while using the populace as slave labour. If we’d waited until official sanctions went through it would have been too little, too late."  
  
Ahsoka blinked and looked up at him. And she really looked, that eerie way he'd discovered only Jedi could look at a person: like they were studying them from the inside out. He didn't squirm, but it was only discipline that prevented him. Finally, she blinked and then spoke.  
  
"Is that why you keep fighting?"  
  
Sever tilted one side of his face up in a crooked smile and shook his head.  
  
"If you're looking for explanations, clarity, or atonement, you're in for some serious disappointment. There is no easy answer. Why do we Clones fight? Because that's what we were made to do, and we're proud to show off. Maybe it's because we're the best of the best at what we do."

He waved back in the direction they came in.

"Even when what we do doesn't come close to being classified as 'nice'… Mostly I think it's because my brothers and I quickly realized that most Jedi have the survival instincts of mentally deranged Gundark’s born with suicidal tendencies and therefore would have died 5 months into the war if we didn't step up and do something to help."  
  
He was happy to see the kid crack a smile, even if it was followed by a sarcastic eye roll. She turned as the ship set down in front of them. They walked up as the ramp opened, revealing Thing 1 and Thing 2 at the top. Ahsoka blinked in surprise at the two clones; which was fair, because she would know that they valued their individuality. Seeing two clones that clearly chose to look exactly like one another (exactly alike. Same hair, tattoo, mannerisms. Even their clothes, which was currently civilian gear) was a little strange. And not even the force was going to help her out with this one. Sever had mercy and waved a hand at the two of them.  
  
"Long story short: they both formed and grew in the same birth pod. Kaminoans were curious and let them be. They're basically our version of identical twins; and they live that fact large. The one on the left is Thing 1, on the right is Thing 2. Your only hope is knowing that Thing 1 favours his left side, Thing 2 his right. Can’t help you any more than that."

Ahsoka blink in incongruity.

“Seriously… That’s what you went with? Thing 1 and Thing 2.”

Thing 1 walked down the ramp chuckling slightly as Thing two walked deeper into the ship.

“Blame our Boss. And trust me; once you know the story behind it, the names are perfect… By the way, nice to meet a new face. What’s your call sign?”

The kid smiled and stuck out her hand which Thing 1 took.

“Ahsoka Tano, and the feelings mutual. My fighter and I tried playing chicken against a rock wall; the wall won. Just so happened Sever here was watching the same patch of wasteland. Agreed to give me a lift as long as I helped him blow stuff up.”

Thing 1 looked over at him, giving a thumbs up.  
  
"Well, dwang… Last time Glitch went solo for a mission, all he came back with was a funny-looking rock. Way to raise the bar."  
  
Sever rolled his eyes and couldn’t help but snark.

  
"Yeah, yeah. She’s a good shot, I’m debating asking Skywalker if he wants to trade her out for you.”

Thing 1 just waved a significant finger in his direction as Ahsoka turned with a sardonic smile and pointed to herself.  
  
“I should really have a say in this.”

Sever waved a hand at the bike, silently asking his brother for a hand as he returned the kids smile.

“Nope. Now quiet, the adults are working here.”

Ahsoka huffed dramatically and stomped up the ramp throwing out loudly behind her,

“Just sit on it and spin you karker.”

Both clones couldn’t help but burst out laughing as they got the speeder inside the tiny cargo hold and magnetized into place. From the direction of the cockpit they could hear Thing 2 cackling away before calling out.

“Oh… I like her! Kriff what the Jedi says; we’re so totally keeping her.”

Thing 1 waved at the front.

 "I better get up there and make sure he doesn’t try to do a barrel roll or something. You know… Again.”  
  
Then taking off, Sever and the Jedi taking a moment to decompress from the mission as they listened to the twins banter back and forth. Eventually they sat down. After a moment she shifted over, coming to sit right next to him and bumping her shoulder into his. Sever turned to look at her.  
  
"We'll make it better. After… after everything. When this war is over and everyone finally learns how to sit down and talk instead of fighting. We'll make sure they remember who helped us get there." The young Jedi offered Sever a small but confident smile. "The war will end… Then we'll make sure every Clone gets full citizenship. And I will personally hand you your 'walking orders' myself."  
  
He bumped her shoulder back with a small huff.  
  
"Okay, confession time. I don’t actually need them.”

The kid frowned.

“What?”

He smiled and waved at the symbol on his right shoulder. She wouldn’t know the significance behind the design, but she would recognize it meaning that he belonged in Methos’ squad.

 “We got lucky. Luckier than most. There isn’t a Clone in the 6-8 who doesn’t believe Methos will have our backs the minute this wars done… Still, it’s the thought that counts, so thanks.”

He tilted his head back, resting it on the wall behind the seat and letting the drone of the engines lull him down. He didn’t miss the kids soft ‘Your Welcome’. Then his eyes opened back up slowly as he remembered something. He nudged her arm again as he turned to look at her.

“Yeah?”

“I would really, really like to know the story behind that damn fork."  
  
Ahsoka barked out a surprised laugh, chuckling as she rubbed her face with one hand.  
  
"Wow… Okay. So it was just supposed to be a boring diplomatic meet-and-greet, but Master Skywalker found out that--"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No- I don't think Ahsoka goes around swearing at people all the time. But I do think she's spent a lot of time with the Clones as her family, and therefore is perfectly able and willing to give as good as she gets when it comes to banter.


	9. Something Cunning This Way Comes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Notes: There is a bit of Mandalorian culture/clan listed here. House Nyrvha I made up because I could only find the name of two Houses (although some sites stated that there could be up to 20 in reality). The information about Clan Bralor and Rav Bralor is canon to the Clone Wars series- I just don’t know the House they fall under. The Republic’s legislation towards the clones I pulled as much from canon and then made up the rest. Jedi Guardians were soldiers and they did exist but not exactly how I have them. Stayed as much to the truth as I could, but I did have to make up some stuff.
> 
> Timeline wise, this is about 3 to 4 months after the events of Attack of the Clones. So the Jedi Order is still somewhat getting their minds wrapped around the idea of being leaders of an army, and what position exactly the clones are in.
> 
> Many, MANY thanks to my wonderful beta Evenmoor. This wouldn’t be nearly as good without her efforts.

_There will always be a reason why you meet people._

_Either you need them to change your life or_

_you’re the one that will change theirs._

**Quote by Madeline Sheehan**

 

* * *

 

**Clone Cadet 5632- Sever**

It was the ferocity of the shouting that drew his attention. Being a military base (no matter what the damn Jedi Council called it), raised voices were hardly out of the ordinary, but this was out-and-out unbridled rage, and the generally obedient clone personality wasn't typically geared for that. Methos flew around the corner, curious to know what was causing the commotion.  
  
He jerked to a stop when he saw a young cadet with a blaster at the ready and pointed at two Kominoan scientists, snarling at them in their own language as he blocked the way to the medical wing. The clone appeared to be 16, maybe 17, in human terms, but Methos recognized the expression of a man fully willing to kill if necessary.  
  
Methos could also see the data pad one of the Kaminoans was holding. It was cycling through the clone's training history (which was an interesting read), and he wondered if the clone realized he'd just signed his death warrant.  
  
Definitely. Clones came programmed with a staggering level of optimism, but that didn't mean they weren't realistic. Every clone knew his worth and where it lay; it was just infuriating to Methos how accepting they were of the knowledge.  
  
"You lay a hand on either of these men and I guarantee we won't be the only ones marked for the void today," the young clone snarled in that distinctive Mandalorian accent they all shared with their progenitor.  
  
Enough was enough. Methos wanted to know what was happening. Most of all, he really didn't want anyone to die.  
  
"Right, why don't we all just take a step back," he interrupted, shattering the tension of the moment, "and fill in the clueless interloper on just what the hell is going on."  
  
The clone jerked up, going even more rigid, while the Kaminoans slowly turned to him, wiping all expression off their faces. Now that he could see their faces he recognized the two of them. He just couldn’t remember their names. They bowed with the utmost respect and grace.  
  
"We are sorry for the disturbance, Master Jedi. Allow us to settle this matter and we shall explain," the one on the left began in soothing, polite tones.  
  
Methos snorted derisively, which seemed to startle the aliens. Then he nodded at the clone, instead.  
  
"Right, you. What's going on?"  
  
The clone paused for a second, as if taken off-guard being directly addressed by a Jedi, and then jerked his head towards the door behind him.  
  
"Training accidents. Two cadets, one with a brain injury, the one damaged and one missing limb. But these _sleemos_ decided that it's easier just to 'liquidate' the issue." The clone bared his teeth in barely-contained fury. "They crunched the karking numbers and decided cost was more important then two lives. They're just **kids**! The youngest isn't even 6 yet! They deserve a chance."  
  
Methos took a breath and counted back from ten -- first in Basic, then in Mando'a and Sith -- desperately trying to reign in his temper. That was the exact reason he was on this rain-soaked planet in the first place. After becoming more and more disturbed by how the clones were treated, it finally erupted into a full-out screaming fit directed at the Jedi Council as a whole. Maybe if Yoda had been there he might have gotten away with a few harsh words and a slap on the hand. Instead he'd had to face an angry and defensive Mace Windu without benefit of a green troll, and promptly been shipped off to manage inventory and to aid with prepping the upcoming clone troops for the unforeseen future.  
  
Now every one of his complaints was being shoved in his face in one condensed incident. He felt another Council-induced shouting match might be due via holo exchange.  
  
Methos held out a beckoning hand to the two scientists.  
  
"Show me the medical data."  
  
The Kaminoans paused, looking at each other in a silent exchange before the one on the right hesitantly held out the data pad. Methos looked through the information, digesting it rapidly through the practiced eyes of a physician.  
  
The first injury meant that the clone would need several bacta sessions and invasive nanite surgery to treat the damaged areas of the brain. But while the clone might have slight issues with long-term memory and motor control for the rest of his life, he would still be a capable member of society... just not as a soldier. The second's left hand side was a mess, to be sure, but again it wasn't anything that a skilled medic couldn't take care of. And that clone would still be more than capable of being a soldier after he got used to his new appendages. It would just cost the Kaminoans more than it would to simply clone two replacements, and require a specially-designed training regimen to work with their disabilities.  
  
The young clone was right. They’d crunched the numbers and decided it was easier just to liquidate the assets and start over. Methos wasn't aware of his once-again building temper until he heard a sharp crack and refocused to see that he'd crushed part of the data pad in his hands. He loosened his grip and pushed back his darker emotions as he set the pad down on a ledge before looking up at the now-nervous aliens.  
  
"You will permit the surgery. I will create an extensive therapy regime that will target both clones' shortcomings for maximum efficiency, and you will implement it." Methos kept his voice perfectly calm, but there would be no mistaking his words for anything less than direct orders to be obeyed without question or argument. He pointed at the armed man between the Kaminoans and the medical wing. "And wipe this clone's record clean as he is now under my care."  
  
"Master Jedi, we run a highly specialized business with the highest of standards. The Republic has authorized a selected cost for each clone and will—"  
  
Methos interrupted, switching to Kaminoan to emphasize his point.  
  
"—The Republic can take their projected estimates and shove them right up the darkest parts of their sanctimonious assets… How much?"  
  
The Kaminoans blinked, but whether it was because of the shock of him speaking their language or because of his words he couldn't say.  
  
"Please elaborate, Master Jedi."  
  
Methos nodded at the clone and the medical door beyond him.  
  
"I read his evaluation; I know what's coming for him. I also know you won't pay for anything you view of as 'damaged goods'. So, let's make this a financial exchange, since you value your business so highly. How much to cover all medical treatment the injured two require and supplies and equipment for all three clones?" He paused for effect. "Of course we'll omit including initial costs of the clones' creation considering you were willing to sacrifice that expense via liquidation. After all, I'm sure you have tax exemptions for disposal of 'defective' product."  
  
He waited patiently as the two cloners discussed the issue between themselves quietly. He looked over at the clone, who was staring at him intently with an unreadable expression. Methos just nodded at him and turned back to the aliens as they focused their attention back towards him. The Kaminoan on the left held out his data pad without releasing it, showing Methos a not-so-unsubstantial figure at the top with a breakdown of the expense underneath. It was an impressive figure, but it wasn't an unfair cost considering. And it certainly wasn't like Methos couldn't afford it.  
  
He smiled internally. All of this was giving him a really interesting idea. He nodded at the price and then looked up at the scientists.  
  
"This figure is acceptable." That clearly surprised them, although they both quickly schooled their features. "Of course, it will take me a few hours to gather and transfer the funds. You may draw up the necessary transfer agreements and I will see to the Republic legalities myself.”

 

The Kaminoans nodded, once again calm and collected now that they were in familiar territory.  
  
"We find this arrangement acceptable. We will convene in Meeting Room 117 on level 12 at the arranged time."  
  
"Right."  
  
Methos watched the aliens glide away before turning back to the clone. He held out a hand.  
  
"Methos."  
  
The clone looked at his hand for a second, then reached out slowly and clasped his in a firm grip, shaking it.  
  
"Sever."  
  
"Look, I've got a lot of things to do in a very short period of time. And, yes, I must admit some of it now does involve you. So can we meet up again in about four hours?"  
  
Sever shifted, looking slightly nervous, before hardening his gaze and nodding sharply.  
  
"Good. Room 117, level 12, four hours from now."  
  
He turned to walk away, stopping a few steps later when Sever's voice rang out.  
  
"Hey, um, that was… I didn't think-- They deserved a chance. Thanks for giving it to them."  
  
Methos waved away his acknowledgement.  
  
"You earned it."

* * *

 

  
In the end, it took him 3 hours, 49 minutes, and 12 seconds to accomplish everything on his list and learn what the Kaminoans he’d been talking to were called. And while he would definitely have to spend the night filling in all the gaps, he was confident that his plans would pass even Republic bureaucracy.  
  
Besides, he would consider it worth it just to watch the wave of surprise that would pass over both Jedi Order and Republic Senate the second they found out what he just pulled off. Of course, he was going to make damn sure it would be a case of 'too little, too late' by they time they learned about it.  
  
He snapped his gaze up as the door to the meeting room opened and Sever stepped through. The clone cautiously walked in and stood at parade rest at the end of the table.  
  
"You wanted to see me, sir."  
  
"No 'sirs' here, just us," Methos grimaced. "I'll call you Sever, so, for the love of everything, please call me Methos."  
  
"Yes si—Methos."  
  
"And don't just stand there, get over here and grab a chair. We have a lot to discuss; you might as well be comfortable for it."  
  
After a brief pause, the clone sat down awkwardly. Methos took a second to analyze what he knew about the clones, what he knew about Sever, and how to handle what needed to come next. After a moment, he nodded to himself and pulled three data pads out from the bottom of his pile, sliding them over to Sever. He tapped the one on the far left.  
  
"This one is yours. The other two belong to Humble and Cadet 6389, but I thought you could glance over them and be their acting representative for this meeting."  
  
He watched as Sever looked at his documents. Then the clone made an aborted choking noise in his throat and grabbed the pad, lifting it up and studying it closely, scrolling through the information slowly several times before looking at Methos with utmost incredulity.  
  
"This is documentation of _citizenship_ … It says that I'm now officially recognized as a member of Clan Bralor. It's even got rights and privileges granted to me by Mandalorian law."  
  
"6389 and Humble's say the same. Clan Bralor has served Mandalore with distinction and honour, and are known for their fierce loyalty to their planet, their House, and Clan. They are joined to one of the lesser houses, House Nyrvhe, but that house has close ties and good standing with House Kryze… You probably recognized the name because their Chieftain, Rav Bralor, was one of a select few Mandalorians responsible for training the first batch of clones this facility produced. Using some of her recommendations and techniques they created the training regime all proceeding clones would use."  
  
"And they… they wanted us? That doesn't make any sense."  
  
"Clan membership isn't based on race or blood. Clan’s have the right to bring other individuals into the fold," Methos explained. "They will consult with their Chieftain and decide whether that person is accepted or not. Your names were brought up, your positions explained, and your membership accepted."  
  
"How?" Sever gaped at him, absolutely floored. Well, if he wasn't already sitting down, he would be.  
  
Methos smiled and held out a hand.  
  
"Honorary citizen of House Nyrvhe and full member of Clan Bralor, Atin Bralor at your service."  
  
Sever stared at Methos, then looked away as he frowned in thought.  
  
"Doesn't Atin mean 'thick' or something like that?" he asked slowly.  
  
"It means 'stubborn,'" Methos snorted, rolling his eyes, "but I'm sure that's the sentiment Rav's brother was going for with the title. Whatever, I'm not exactly able to say the description isn't accurate."  
  
Sever was quiet for a long time. Methos let him think; he knew he was throwing a lot at the young clone. Much of which he wouldn't truly understand until the Jedi could get him away from this place and begin teaching him how real life worked. That would have to wait, however. Eventually Sever set the documents aside and focused completely on Methos.  
  
"So, I'm now a citizen of Mandalore. If it were that easy, you wouldn't have all the other paperwork sitting there. So, what's the catch and what exactly does all this mean for the three of us?"  
  
Methos nodded appreciatively; Sever was sharp and to the point, and he liked him more by the second.  
  
"On paper, and in non-Republic space, it means exactly that: the three of you are **free**. Free to live your life however you want. And if that means telling the Republic where to stick their orders, all the more power to you." Methos sighed heavily. "Republic space is where it gets complicated. I've done what I could, but there are a lot of loopholes and red tape where you clones are concerned. Horrifyingly, on paper you aren't considered people, but property. And while I may have 'bought' you, there is enough leeway in the wording that I can't be sure Republic officials wouldn't be able to turn around and simply draft you back into the army should you stay in their space. There are also grounds for them to argue your training makes you a threat should you ever enter Separatist territory. Thankfully, you fall under Mandalorian law the minute you're out of Republic space, and they can't touch you without risking all-out war with Mandalore. Trust me, that's a sleeping Gorog they have **no** intention of waking up."  
  
"So… Leave and never come back—"  
  
"—is option number 1," Methos interrupted with one finger raised. "The Republic would more than likely force you to fight in the army or lock you up if you remain in their space. However, the way around this and be able to live wherever you want is to fall under the Jedi banner and voluntarily join the Republic Army."  
  
"You may have lost me," Sever frowned.  
  
"Look, right now the situation for clones sucks. You were born for the Republic, you live for the Republic, and a lot of you are going to die for the Republic," Methos acknowledged, waving a hand. "No impute, no salary, no rights. But citizens of the Republic can also join the Army. They agree to serve a period of time and then are honourably discharged. Now, if you want, and only if you want, you can do the same. Through a loophole I can exploit, you'll be registered through the Jedi Order as a Guardian Class Member—"  
  
"I'm not a Jedi."  
  
"Which is irrelevant. Funny thing about the Temples codes and regulations: no one has adjusted them in a _very_ long time. After the Mandalorian Wars, when Jedi numbers were depleted, they made an adjustment so that certain positions could be filled by non-Force sensitives in a limited capacity. This fell out of practice as Jedi numbers were replenished, and eventually everyone forgot the regulation even existed. Guardians were soldiers for the Jedi Order, and all it takes to be appointed as one is for the person to show high proficiency in combat and an understanding of the duties that follow. You have that covered. Besides that, you just need the authorization of one Jedi who's reached the rank of Master." Methos leaned back and pointed at himself. "Ta-da!"

 

He smiled. There was nothing more satisfying than when he could use the legality bureaucracy loved so much and hang the bastards with it.

 

"So, as a Guardian you will be recognized as a citizen of Mandalore with duties to the Jedi temple, under the command of a senior Jedi Master, while falling under the banner of Republic soldier. Yes, you will be fighting in the war-- but, this allows you to be able to choose what capacity your participation is. Not only that, but Republic law itself will be forced to work for you, meaning you will be granted all ranks, privileges, and rights afforded to a Mandalorian citizen fighting under their banner." Methos paused and smiled. "It also means you'll have full access to possibilities of promotion, able to vote, buy and sell property, have access to full benefits, and be offered full salary."  
  
Sever was quiet for a long time, staring off into space, before turning his attention back to him.  
  
"And all this applies to the other two as well."  
  
"Yes and no." Methos wiggled his hand demonstratively. "Even as clones, they're still young enough to be considered minors by Republic law, so they actually can't join the Army yet. And with incomplete training the Senate can't make the 'Threat to Republic' argument. Another reason I brought you all under the Jedi banner is it allows me to claim them as Temple Adoptions -- another practice that most have forgotten but is still in the mandates -- which automatically forces Republic Legislation to act in their protection. Once they reach adulthood they'll be offered full choice in what they do with their lives."  
  
Another round of silence before Sever turned to him and almost floored Methos with the amount of awe and raw hope in his eyes.  
  
"Why are you doing this? What makes the three of us so karking special?" Sever's voice actually cracked with emotion.  
  
Methos held his gaze while offering nothing more than complete honesty.  
  
"You're not. You're not any more or less than every other clone in this place. Why the three of you? I was there and I could help. And **_no one_** deserves to be treated like disposable property. It's time the galaxy saw you all as more than canon fodder for the Great Republic Machine." Methos huffed a small breath. "And, okay, yes. I picked you because you impressed me. Even knowing it would get you killed, you went against orders and stood tall, protecting men who couldn't protect themselves. That's not a trait that should be 'bred out' of clones. The Republic should be begging for more soldiers like that. I wish I could tell you that I can do the same for every clone in here, but unfortunately I can't. I don't have the funds or the ability to find citizenship for everyone. What I **can** do is take a small group, train them with a unique set of skills, and either teach them to be citizens or help them fight the battles that actually _need_ to be fought. And when this war is finally over and the Senate starts arguing about Clone Rights and how they will never fit into regular society, those clones can stand up as a benchmark and be the proof that says otherwise."  
  
He didn't know Sever well enough to get a full read on him, so Methos couldn't be sure whether he'd been impressed with his speech, or had suddenly realized he was sitting next to a madman. There were merits to both, so he just waited. Finally, the young clone nodded at the rest of the documents sitting on the table.  
  
"This isn't a decision I'm making on the fly. I want to know what I'm getting into and what my full options are before I agree to anything," he said.  
  
Methos shrugged.  
  
"I've got three weeks before this has to go to Order and Senate. I'm going to take two and get as much organized here as I can. The last week is all about making sure it's rock solid enough that no one can countermand it. So, in the meantime you can bombard me with all the questions and concerns you want."  
  
"What exactly are you planning to do in the next two weeks?" Sever asked curiously.  
  
"Finding 97 more soldiers just like you," replied Methos with a sneaky grin.  
  
"These 'Guardians' came in sets of 100, did they?" the clone remarked with a raised brow.  
  
"No, but Centuries did. If I'm going to start a fight -- and no matter what this **_is_** going to be a fight -- I'm going to stick with the tactics I know. You'd be surprised what a small group can do with the right motivation."  
  
Sever glanced away and once again Methos gave him time. It was nearing when Tani Du and Fewa Sai would be arriving, but this wasn't something he wanted to rush. A smile slowly crept across Sever's face as he turned back once more.  
  
"Okay, I know a few people you're going to want to meet."

* * *

                                                                **Three Weeks Later**  
  
"Wait, you lot have been ragging on me to become part of the war since the beginning, and now that I have I'm getting yelled at. Where exactly is the justice in that?" Methos remained perfectly calm as he stared down the Council.  
  
Most of them appeared to be a mix of shocked and horrified. Mace Windu actually had a vein pulsing at the side of his head. Ki-Adi-Mundi seemed uncomfortable, though Adi Gallia looked intrigued. Plo Koon was difficult to read as a hologram. Yoda, naturally, was amused. Hiding it well, of course, but that troll's eyes always gave away what his blank face didn't.  
  
"Do you have any idea the trouble you have caused, how much backlash this is going to evoke in the Senate?" Windu demanded.  
  
"Why? I've done nothing that breaks any laws." Methos blinked serenely. Inside, though, he really was enjoying this much more than he should. "Everything has been aboveboard, conforming to all legal statutes and operating well within the boundaries of Republic sanctions."  
  
" _You bought a militia_!"  
  
"No, I went out and conscripted galactic citizens to assist the Grand Army of the Republic against any and all threats that risk the rights and ideals set forth by the Republic."  
  
"Studied your report I have. Interesting, the wording is," Yoda finally remarked.  
  
Methos turned his full attention to Yoda, even as the rest of the Council tensely waited to hear his response. Both he and they knew what the Master was asking.  
  
"My men have chosen to willingly serve the _Republic_ and all it stands for."  
  
The soft sound of a throat clearing drew his attention and Methos, along with the rest of the Council turned to Kit Fisto.  
  
"Of greatest concern to me was your report about clones purposefully being killed by the Kaminoans."  
  
"Tani Du said they prefer the term 'liquidation of defective product." Methos took a deep, calming breath. Even now, he tasted bile in his mouth just repeating the Kaminoan's cold words. "And if that doesn't turn your stomach as much as it turned mine than we have a lot bigger problems then me stepping on a few toes."  
  
"I believe I speak for everyone when I say that it did." Eeth Koth spared a glance at his fellow Masters and Methos watched as a round of agreement passed through. "For that reason Shaak Ti has relocated to Kamino permanently where she will see to the training and care of all present and future cadets. What you witnessed with those three clones will never happen again, you have our word."  
  
Methos paused for a second and then nodded at the Zabrak. A long, drawn-out sigh brought his attention back to Windu.  
  
"You are not here to defend your actions in protecting three lives put into immediate jeopardy, Master Methos. It is what followed in the proceeding weeks that must be addressed."  
  
Yoda hummed thoughtfully, drawing circles with his walking stick. The room waited, knowing what that noise expressed. After a moment he turned to address the Council.  
  
"Though from impudent beginnings this plan may have originated, guided by the Force it is also. Treated wrong these men have been -- time for a new strategy it may be. Welcome the Century Squad, we should. Lead them, Methos will."  
  
Methos bowed respectfully, knowing and acknowledging how much Yoda had just stuck his neck out for him.  
  
"If I may be excused, I have been informed by Senator Organa that procedure dictates I am to inform the Chancellor personally of this information. I wouldn't want to be late for the meeting."  
  
"Join you I will, your reasoning we may both explain."  
  
Methos smiled and waited as Yoda came over to join him. After they'd exited the Council Chamber, Methos leaned down and offered a shoulder. With a brief smirk, Yoda climbed right up, comfortably seating himself as Methos stood and strode down the corridor.  
  
"Sneaky Green Troll," Methos whispered chidingly. "You just want to be there to see the look on Palpatine's face."  
  
"Distress to others, a Jedi wishes not."  
  
"You do realize that's still not a denial of my statement, right?" Methos retorted, one eyebrow raised.  
  
Yoda chuckled and cuffed him lightly with his stick.  
  
"Hurry we must, or miss the meeting we will, Master Methos."  
  
"Yes, of course, Master Yoda."


	10. Traitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHORS NOTES: THIS STORY IS NOT MINE. This story was written and created by EVENMOOR. Considering that we've both been playing in the same sandbox with the same characters we decided that it made more sense to combine our stories and to start co-writing this. So the three stories that she has written that tie into 'Immortal in Jedi Robes' are now being brought over into Immortal. Watch for comments in 'Notes' about who wrote which chapter (or which part of a chapter when we tag team)

The long march back to the ship was painfully silent. Not that this surprised Sever; they were all still in shock. Though 'shock' was too small and simple a word to encompass what they felt. He and his fellow clone troopers, his brothers, the whole Century, were still trying to wrap their heads around what had just happened.

  
They had killed him. The Centurion, who refused to be called "General." Jedi Master Methos. Basically, the only person who treated them as equals, as something more than just cannon fodder against the Separatists, the man who ensured they had a future and life beyond the Grand Army of the Republic. And they returned the favor by killing him.  


Sever knew better, of course. They hadn't killed the Centurion. _He_ had. Everyone else's shots went wild when Master Methos knocked them down with a Force push in a vain attempt to escape. But Sever's shot… Sever's hit home.

  
Even now, he could still see that moment clearly in his mind: both cloth and flesh sizzled and burned as the plasma bolt impacted Methos's chest. The Jedi's limp form tumbling through the air, clothes flapping around him like a collapsed parachute as he fell, already dead.

  
It had all made sense in that moment. The Jedi was a traitor. All the Jedi were traitors. And traitors had to die. Order 66 was clear. But as soon as the Jedi's body disappeared from sight into the canyon below, Sever and his brothers had frozen in shock and disbelief. The absolute certainty and clarity in their orders evaporated like mist in the sunlight.

  
And now, the Centurion's ghost hounded them mockingly. Not that Sever was particularly superstitious, but he could swear that he could almost glimpse him in the corner of his eye. Sever refused to look, to see the charred hole where the man's chest had been. Where he had killed him. The only ghosts were the ones people tortured themselves with.

  
It was a bitter relief when the Century finally made it back to _Aletheia_ and they were able to distract themselves with the preparations for departure. None of them wanted to talk, even Gimbal, who normally no one could get to shut up. He silently disappeared into their small infirmary with a limping Humble to treat his injured ankle. Thing 1 and Thing 2 just sat next to each other, staring blankly in unaccustomed silence at the helmets in their hands. The entire Century, a hundred men, and none of them had any words. Were they simply expected to return to the fleet as if nothing had happened? We've killed our Jedi, what are our orders?

  
Sever entered the cockpit both grateful for and dreading the solitude it provided. For a moment, he gazed out the canopy. With magnification, he could just make out the cliff path they had taken, where it all happened.  


_Kriff it._  
  


He pulled off his helmet and tossed it forcefully to the copilot's seat while he slid into the empty pilot's seat.  


"Ow," Master Methos said flatly as the helmet bounced off his chest and clattered to the deck.  


Sever's mind went blank. _Jedi. Traitor. Kill the traitor. Good soldiers followed orders._ He reached for his blaster. _Kill the traitor, save the Republic. Good soldiers followed orders._  


"Sorry, Sever, but you already killed me once today," the traitor said, holding up a hand. And then everything went black.

 

 

Sever blinked awake, completely disoriented. _What the karking hells happened?_  
He tried to bring up a hand to rub his forehead and somehow sort out his jumbled thoughts, only to discover that he was quite thoroughly restrained.  


The trooper grimaced and took stock of his surroundings. With some surprise, he realized that he was in Aletheia's infirmary. His armor had been removed, so he was able to feel the subtle vibrations that told him that the ship was in flight. But he also felt the familiar warm, oddly tingly sensation of bacta -- on the side of his head.  


_Well, that couldn't be good._  
  


"Oh, good. It's about time you woke up. I was making bets with myself on how long it would take, and I'll have you know I've already lost 50 credits!"  


At the familiar, yet totally unexpected voice, Sever's breath caught in his throat, and his eyes stung with emotion. There, lounging in the doorway, stood Master Methos, the Centurion, as hale and whole as the day he'd stood up for two damaged young brothers on Kamino.  


The clone tried to speak, tried to form some words, but nothing would emerge from his mouth as his brain short-circuited.   


Apparently completely at his ease, the Jedi entered the room as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't died. As if Sever hadn't killed him.  


"How do you feel, Sever? Any lingering desires to kill me?" Methos asked mildly, like he was reading Sever's mind. He could, too. Jedi could do that. Methos never did, though, not to them.   


There was long moment of silence, broken only by the faint hum of the ship and the infirmary equipment. Finally, Sever managed to speak.  


"You were dead. You're not dead anymore."  


"Ten out of ten for observation. Yes, I was dead. I got better," Methos matter-of-factly replied as he checked the readout on Sever's vital signs. "The other Jedi… weren't so lucky."  


If all the clones throughout the galaxy had received the Order… if they had all turned on the Jedi as the Century had… Sever looked away from Methos, unable to meet his eyes as the horror fully dawned on him. The Jedi were dead, all of them, and his brothers were their executioners.   


"You were a traitor. The Jedi turned on the Chancellor, on the Republic. We had to kill you. We received the order. Good soldiers follow orders." His shame made every word a bitter struggle. The Jedi had not been the traitors. Sever and his brothers were. A vast chasm opened up beneath him, a yawning abyss that threatened to consume not just Sever, but the entire galaxy. _The Jedi were dead. All of them_. "You taught us to resist mind tricks, Force manipulation, that sort of thing, but this… this was something else altogether. There was no way. **No way**."  


"Sever, if you have ever listened to me in your life, listen to me now. _It wasn't your fault_. It was the inhibitor chips." Sever heard Methos sigh heavily. "The kriffing inhibitor chips. I knew there was something more to them than that. I warned that little green troll after I first found out they existed. But I couldn't exactly pop open your head to look, and I didn't want to risk killing you if I removed it. Brain surgery is still not something you do on a lark, even these days. But you rather forced my hand, so congratulations. You're now 100% inhibitor chip-free, and not dead."  


Now that Sever had shaken free of the last vestiges of unconsciousness, he realized that his thoughts felt clearer. Crisper. Bright and sharp as the edge of a Jedi's lightsaber.  


"It's strange," he admitted. "It's like my whole life I've been walking through fog. But now-"  


"Yes." Methos carefully loosed the restraints; Sever reflexively rubbed his wrists as he gingerly sat up.  


He spotted Gimbal and Humble unconscious on the floor by the bulkhead. Humble's injured ankle had been wrapped; Sever recognized the distinctive style as belonging to Methos himself, rather than Gimbal.   


"What about the rest of the Century? My brothers?"   


"I used _Aletheia's_ anti-intruder defenses to incapacitate them after handling you. They're all still unconscious, probably for hours yet. Gimbal's next on the table, by the way, but since I can't fly the ship and perform delicate surgical procedures at the same time, and you know how much I trust autopilots, I figured I'd use you as a guinea pig."  


"Always glad to be of service, sir," Sever drawled sardonically, then slapped himself internally for the ill-advised quip.  


"You did shoot me. Count yourself lucky that wasn't my favorite shirt. So you were doubly qualified to serve as my test patient. Just be thankful that I've been brushing up on neurosurgery lately."  


Sever frowned, finally gathering himself to meet the Centurion's hazel eyes again. There was something there, he realized. Something... old. Dark. Sad. Sever hadn't exactly met a vast number of Jedi over the course of his relatively short life, but none of them, even Master Yoda, seemed like Methos did at that moment. For the first time, Sever realized how little he and his brothers knew the man who had led them through so many missions.  


"How aren't you dead?" he wondered aloud.  


"That… is a story far longer and more complicated than we have time for at the moment. The short version is that I'm Immortal. Lucky me. Now, help me lug Gimbal up there, and then get up to the cockpit. We're heading for Mandalore."


	11. The Missing Librarian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note: First off, I’m NOT the author of this chapter. This chapter was written by Evenmoor- therefore all credit belongs to Evenmoor. This is a continuation of us combining her ‘Methos the Jedi’ stories (which inspired me and caused me to write a continuation of her work) with mine. If this chapter seems familiar it is because she had already posted it at her site at an earlier date. 
> 
> Please direct all praise and love of this chapter towards Evenmoor. The only impute I had in it is re-posting it here.

 

"Are all our missions gonna end with people shooting at us, Master Obi-Wan?" Anakin asked in an aggrieved tone.  
  
"Not… _all_ our missions!" Obi-Wan replied, blocking a blaster bolt that came perilously close to his head. He didn't blame the boy for his feelings, though he definitely was not going to reveal that he had a bad feeling about the mission from the moment Master Yoda had summoned him to the Council chambers.

* * *

  
Obi-Wan rubbed at his beard. He really did think that it lent an air of gravitas to him. No longer the padawan, but a full-fledged Jedi Knight, with a student of his own.  
  
Not that being called to the Council chambers felt any less nerve-wracking now that he was a Knight. And Master Qui-Gon wasn't here to--  
  
A stab of grief shot through him. He still expected Qui-Gon's tall, imposing form to appear around a corner, his deep voice correcting him on a kata.  
  
He took a long moment to compose himself. Qui-Gon was one with the Force now.  
  
When Obi-Wan entered the Council chambers, only Mace Windu and Yoda awaited him.  
  
"Knight Kenobi," Windu greeted him formally.  
  
"Master Windu, Master Yoda." Obi-Wan bowed respectfully to the Councilors.  
  
"How fares your student? I hear he is progressing well despite his… late start," the Korun master inquired diplomatically. Nevermind the fact that Master Windu had been initially opposed to Anakin's training, while Obi-Wan never understood the Council's focused concerns about the boy's _age_.  
  
"The change has been difficult for Anakin emotionally," Obi-Wan neutrally noted. Who was he kidding? It had been difficult for _all_ of them. "But he _is_ thriving in spite of it. And he is well ahead of his age group in both piloting and cybernetics. Though I sense, Masters, that you did not summon me here to discuss my apprentice."  
  
Windu shared a glance with Yoda. Something unreadable passed between them.  
  
"We have a mission for you. After your encounter with the Sith on Naboo, the Council deemed it wise to account for all of the Jedi who have been away from the Temple on long-term assignments, particularly in the Outer Rim." Master Windu paused. Something was _definitely_ bothering him, but Force only knew what. "One of those Jedi, a Librarian, has not responded to our attempts to contact him. Your mission is to locate him and bring him back to the Temple."  
  
Obi-Wan stroked his beard thoughtfully.  
  
"There are many who could do this. Master Fisto, for instance. Why me?"  
  
"A friend of old, he was, to Master Qui-Gon," Yoda said, speaking for the first time. It was unusual for him to sound so… subdued. It took Obi-Wan a moment to remember that Qui-Gon had been Yoda's grand-padawan. "Listen to you, for _his_ sake, he may."  
  
"'Listen to me'? Why _wouldn't_ he listen to me, or any Jedi, for that matter?" Then again, if this Librarian were a friend of Qui-Gon, maybe he was being problematic simply for the sake of annoying the Council.  
  
"The man is contrary and difficult," Master Windu griped, probably a bit more harshly than he realized, and pretty much confirming Obi-Wan's suspicions.  
  
Yoda seemed amused by his fellow Councilor's annoyance.  
  
"Like him, you do not. Like you, _he_ does not. Sacrifices, we _all_ must make." The ancient Jedi Master turned back to Obi-Wan. "Seek, you must, Ben-Ghi Ness."

* * *

  
"A Jedi Master lives _here_?" Anakin asked in disbelief, glancing at the rather unimpressive structure on a less-than-savory street on a definitely disreputable planet to which their search had led them.  
  
"Apparently so," Obi-Wan replied dryly. "Stay close to me, little brother. This place isn't exactly what you'd call _civilized_."  
  
"You do remember that I'm from Tatooine, right?" the boy retorted, flashing Obi-Wan an impudent grin. "Really, I'm just glad there's no sand here."  
  
No, no sand, just muck. Someone had built this Force-forsaken place in the middle of what might as well have been a swamp. The humidity in the air alone was enough to make Obi-Wan's hair and robes stick to his body. He did his best to put up a dignified front, but he could only do so much. He gave up and just went to the door and knocked.  
  
Silence.  
  
Obi-Wan frowned. Surely the man was not ignoring him.  
  
"Master Ness?" he said aloud. Still nothing. "I've come from the Council. We tried to contact you."  
  
"Maybe he's taking a nap," Anakin suggested.  
  
Obi-Wan glared at the closed door in front of him. He could sense the presence of the other man inside through the Force, all spikes and angles, and it was, quite frankly, starting to annoy him.  
  
"Oh, no, he's not," he informed his padawan succinctly. He addressed the door again. "My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. Qui-Gon Jinn was my Master."  
  
The Force presence of the other man shifted somehow. Even as experienced as Obi-Wan was in the Force, having been raised in the Temple his whole life, he couldn't really describe it. It paradoxically seemed both sharper and softer. But the door still remained stubbornly shut.  
Just as Obi-Wan opened his mouth again, the door slid open. Anakin smirked and slipped the multitool back onto his belt.  
  
"That was not very polite, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, trying his best to sound stern and remonstrating.  
  
"Well, he was rude first. And it's sticky out here," replied the young padawan, entirely unrepentantly.  
  
Obi-Wan shook his head, only half-hiding his smile, and stepped through the door. The interior of the house was deceptively spacious, and almost entirely bare. Several heavy-looking crates were stacked up, ready to be moved.  
  
"Going somewhere, Master Ness?" Obi-Wan asked lightly.  
  
Jedi Master Ben-Ghi Ness glared at the young Knight in clear annoyance. His long white hair was tied back in a tail that trailed over his shoulder, contrasting his very bright, deep-set blue eyes and gray-cast skin. Unlike Obi-Wan and Anakin, he was not wearing anything resembling the traditional attire of the Jedi Order, but rather native wear much more practical for living in the humid, swampy city. If he had a lightsaber, it was nowhere in sight.  
  
"Well, I _was_ going somewhere. Then you showed up and announced to the galaxy _Look! A Jedi lives here! Please, everyone come shoot me now!_ " The older man shook his head in disgust. His accent spoke far more of his time in the Outer Rim than an upbringing in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. "Does the term 'laying low' mean nothing to those walking barnacles on the Council?"  
  
Anakin's jaw dropped in shock at the openly and outrageously disrespectful manner in which the Master talked about the most wise and powerful Jedi in the galaxy.  
  
"We tried to contact you, but you never responded. You can't be surprised they sent someone in person to find you," Obi-Wan retorted in a deceptively mild tone, neatly avoiding Ness's verbal trap.  
  
"I've spent the last decade or so surrounded by scum. Literally and figuratively. I was hoping to be gone by the time you showed up here. Unfortunately, life doesn't always work out the way one hopes, does it?"  
  
The uneasy feeling that had been growing in Obi-Wan's gut practically started blossoming.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Oh, just some smugglers who lost some rather valuable merchandise. They're convinced I had something to do with it. You might have missed the aura of misdirection I've been using; Force-sensitives are completely immune to it. But now that you've called attention to me, it's not exactly working anymore, is it? So in about fifteen seconds, this place is going to be a war zone."  
  
Anakin said something he _certainly_ didn't learn at the Jedi Temple.  
  
Ness, meanwhile, calmly picked up the blaster he had set out of sight on one of the crates and took cover.  
  
"I suggest you and your padawan go in there." He nodded to an open doorway leading further in. "I will join you momentarily."

Obi-Wan was about to speak when the sudden warning of impending danger caused him to draw his lightsaber and block a blaster bolt that nearly hit his leg after passing through the closed front door.  
  
"Anakin, go!" he ordered his apprentice even as Ness coolly returned fire through the closed door. A high-pitched shriek from outside heralded a hit. For a librarian (even a _Jedi_ Librarian), he was a remarkable shot. Then the battle began in earnest.  
  
This was supposed to be an easy mission, Obi-Wan thought as he blocked and dodged a wild barrage of blaster bolts coming through the door. Find a wayward Librarian and bring him back to the Temple, not get into a firefight with angry smugglers, especially with Anakin in tow. The boy didn't even have his own lightsaber yet!  
  
"Are all our missions gonna end with people shooting at us, Master Obi-Wan?" Anakin asked in an aggrieved tone.  
  
"Not… _all_ our missions!" Obi-Wan replied as he blocked yet another blaster bolt.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Master Ness snatch something out of the crate he was hiding behind. _Wait, was that_ …?!  
  
With a seemingly-careless expression on his face, the Jedi Master tossed a thermal detonator through the now-shambles of his front door. Obi-Wan barely had a moment to take cover himself before the explosion rocked the building.  
  
"That's not all of them, not by a long shot." There was something rather _fey_ in Ness's eyes, Obi-Wan saw. "There's a hatch in the floor of the other room. It leads to a ship beneath us."  
  
"Beneath us?" Obi-Wan repeated in dazed confusion.  
  
"This is a wetlands, not a swamp. There's water beneath us. Why do you think I chose this house? The lovely view and the excellent school system?" He did not give Obi-Wan a chance to answer, grabbing another thermal detonator and his blaster and heading to the ruined door and the pile of bodies outside.  
  
Obi-Wan started to follow, only for Master Ness to surprise him with a powerful Force push that threw the young Knight backwards through the inner doorway, hitting the far wall with enough force to knock the breath out of him.  
  
"Obi-Wan!" Anakin knelt over him, only showing worry for the first time as Obi-Wan gasped for air. Through the ruined house, a wild series of blaster shots split the air, followed by one last explosion.  
  
An eerie quiet filled the air. Obi-Wan reached out with his senses, trying to find Master Ness with the Force. There was only emptiness and silence outside. Slowly and painfully, Obi-Wan clambered to his feet, grabbing his lightsaber from where it fell by the wall.  
  
"Wait here, Anakin. I'm going to check on things outside." At Anakin's protest, Obi-Wan held up a hand. "I mean it, padawan. _Stay here_. I will be right back."  
  
Cautiously, he stepped towards the utter destruction that had once been the front of the house and out onto the street. The force of the second thermal detonator had been… impressive. There were bodies everywhere, most of them burned past the point of recognizing their species, let alone their identity. If Master Ness was among them, Obi-Wan had no hope of figuring out which one he was. And if he had been _holding_ the detonator when it blew, there probably wouldn't be enough pieces large enough to test genetic material.  
  
Just as he started to head back to Anakin, he felt a presence in the Force. Whirling around, he brought his lightsaber to bear… on a man covered in mud.  
  
"Please don't dismember me, Master Jedi," drawled the man in an incongruous Core Worlds accent as crisp as Obi-Wan's own.  
  
"Who are you?" Obi-Wan demanded, not lowering his lightsaber an inch. This was not Master Ness. Even mud-covered as he was, his Force presence shone bright and clear, like a ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds.  
  
"Me? Oh, I'm-"  
  
"Master Methos! You're alright!" came a high-pitched voice from the doorway behind Obi-Wan. A child's voice, and not Anakin's.  
  
Five children surged past Obi-Wan, ignoring him, his lightsaber, and the charred corpses in the street to rush over to 'Master Methos.' Despite his muddy state, they all threw themselves on him, clutching him like burrs.  
  
A Twi'lek, two humans, a Togruta, and a Nautolan, and not a one seeming older than ten Standard years. Methos's teeth flashed white against the black mud that covered his face as he embraced the children.  
  
"You told me to stay behind, so I decided to check out the ship that Master Ness told us about," Anakin explained sheepishly. "They were inside."  
  
Obi-Wan glanced back at the mud-plastered man now kneeling to be at the children's level. There was no telling how old he was under the muck, or even what race, but he was certainly Force-sensitive. Though Obi-Wan had never heard of a "Methos" at the Temple before, as far as he could remember  
  
"So… Master _Methos_ , is it?" Obi-Wan asked pointedly as he deactivated and slipped his lightsaber back onto his belt.  
  
"Who, me?" The other man smirked. "Not officially 'Master' yet, technically speaking, unless something's changed when I wasn't looking. Ben-Ghi Ness was my teacher."  
  
He seemed entirely too flippant about the situation, Obi-Wan thought.  
  
"You're awfully calm about just losing your Master," he replied. Memories of Qui-Gon's expression as Maul's saber pierced his chest flashed through his mind…  
  
"He's one with the Force now. Is that not the Jedi way? No attachments?" Though Methos appeared to have no fewer than _five_ attachments of his own at the moment. "If you don't believe me, ask Master Yoda. Anyway, we really should get going. Master Ness's heroic sacrifice bought us some time, but if we don't get out of here soon, they're just going to bombard us from ships. They don't take kindly to having their merchandise stolen."  
  
Methos glanced down significantly at the children clutching his muddy hands and clothing.  
  
_Oh.  
  
Right._  
  
"Well, then, let's not allow Master Ness's sacrifice be in vain," Obi-Wan replied after a long moment.  
  
"Come along, you midgets, it's time to go!" Methos grinned brightly once more, and once more Obi-Wan got the feeling that there was much more about this man, Jedi or not, than met the eye.  
  
They all proceeded back into the house, past all the destruction and debris. Amazingly, the crates were still in one piece, a true testament to their quality. Unlike the rest of the building.  
  
"Go on, back to the ship!" The mud-covered maybe-Jedi urged the children, who hustled without complaint back into the other room and down a now-open trap door in the floor.  
  
"You, too, Anakin. Just don't touch anything in there!" ordered Obi-Wan.  
  
Methos gave Obi-Wan a dubious look as soon as Anakin vanished down the hatch.  
  
"We can have a heart-to-heart about everything later, Master Jedi, when we're somewhere that's _not here_!" With a slight gesture, Methos used the Force to levitate two of the crates and block the shattered doorway. "Those ones only have their precious blasters and thermal detonators, anyway. If they want to shoot their way through them, it's fine by me."  
  
The last crate, however, he casually levitated down the barely-large-enough trap door, even as Obi-Wan stared in disbelief at the altogether frivolous use of the Force.  
  
"So, you and Master Ness robbed these smugglers, but not just of slaves, but weapons?"  
  
Methos shook out a hand, ridding it of some of the worst of the now-caking mud, revealing a pale, but clearly human or near-human, pinkish hue.  
  
"And _books_ , too. You'd be surprised at the stuff some criminals have just laying around," the man said smugly as he followed the crate down the hatch. Obi-Wan shook his head in utter astonishment before following him.  
  
The vessel was exceedingly cramped, between Obi-Wan, Methos, Anakin, the five children, and the crate (plus two others already in the craft). Methos slid into the pilot's seat and set to the controls with a will and the ease of experience.

"I trust the ship you arrived in is nearby? _Please_ don't tell me that you took public transportation to get here. This vessel is only rated for atmospheric flight at best."  
  
"Obi-Wan wouldn't let me fly on the way here," Anakin pouted.  
  
"That is because your idea of 'flying' normally leaves me in search of an antiemetic, my young padawan," Obi-Wan retorted archly. Anakin may be one of the best pilots he'd ever seen, but almost any of his insane acrobatic maneuvers would get him arrested in a heartbeat by local authorities if he weren't a Jedi.  
  
Fortunately, their passage to the ship was unhindered by any apparent pursuit by unhappy smugglers. Obi-Wan's ship, in this case, wasn't much larger than Methos's small craft, but at least it would fit everyone (and had a 'fresher!). And it could get them out of here and back to Coruscant. The children happily followed Methos inside and cooperated as he strapped them into the seats in the rear compartment.  
  
Which turned out to be a good thing, because the smugglers caught up with them about a minute later and Obi-Wan had to take off in a hurry. He was pretty sure he may have accidentally slammed Methos into the ceiling with his evasive maneuvers.  
  
"And you complained about the _boy's_ flying?!" the man in question objected as he picked himself off the deck and managed to strap himself into a free seat.  
  
"This is why I hate flying!" Obi-Wan complained to no one in particular. Every single time, without fail, it seemed that people started shooting at him. Fortunately, however much he hated flying, he was also quite good at it.  
  
"Maybe next time you should let me do it!" Anakin suggested brightly from the copilot's seat. "I've got the calculations for the jump to lightspeed."  
  
"Well done, little brother." And with that, the stars streaked in front of them and they vanished into hyperspace, leaving that miserable planet behind for good. As soon as they made the jump, Methos made a beeline to the 'fresher. It was too small for an actual shower, but even the simplest cleaning would be an improvement over his current state.  
  
Indeed, when he emerged, his appearance had vastly improved. There wasn't much to be done for the state of his clothes, but the man was now recognizably human, at least. A couple inches taller than Obi-Wan, of fairly slim build, with short dark hair framing hazel eyes and a prominent nose. And younger than Obi-Wan had thought, maybe only a few years his senior, at the most.  
  
Methos subsequently spent much of the trip to Coruscant mother-henning the children, making sure each of them got a turn in the 'fresher before, much to Obi-Wan's surprise, singing them to sleep. Even Anakin was drifting off in the copilot's seat as Methos's voice gently rose and fell in a lilting language that had no meaning to Obi-Wan. He didn't even have to use a Force suggestion to lull them into slumber, just a simple song.  
  
A slight smile touching his lips almost despite himself, Obi-Wan settled into a meditative state as the journey continued.  
  
When they reached Coruscant, Masters Yoda and Windu met them in the landing bay. As Methos roused the children, Obi-Wan wondered how he was going to explain that the mission went so… sideways.  
  
Mace Windu certainly seemed surprised when the children piled out of the ship, happily chattering away with Anakin and followed by Obi-Wan and a quite frankly odiferous Methos.  
  
"I trust you have a good explanation for this? Where's Master Ness?" Windu asked pointedly.  
  
"I'm afraid Ben-Ghi Ness sacrificed himself with a thermal detonator while saving us all from smugglers and slavers. It was a truly heroic ending," Methos proclaimed, as if reciting the plot from a holo-vid drama. Obi-Wan winced internally at the bizarre discontinuity.  
  
"Good, it is, that you have returned his apprentice, then." If Obi-Wan didn't know better, he would swear that the ancient and respected Jedi Master Yoda was smirking. Actually smirking! And at Methos!  
  
"I take it you two do know each other, then," he remarked with a tone as dry as the Tatooine desert.  
  
"It seems like lifetimes since I've seen you, Master Yoda." Methos actually inclined his head in respect towards the venerated Jedi leader.  
  
"Too long, it has been. The Libraries have missed your hand, and the younglings your voice," replied Master Yoda, his own voice softening.  
  
Obi-Wan glanced at Mace Windu, but the Korun Master actually seemed just as mystified as he did at the exchange.  
"Speaking of the Library, I found a few additions for Jocasta Nu's collections. Is that enough of a peace offering, do you think?" Methos asked, with a smile just barely touching his lips.  
  
"If, before you present them to her, clean yourself more thoroughly you do." Yoda gestured pointedly with his gimmer stick at some of the crusted mud still stuck to Methos's boots.  
  
Obi-Wan had almost managed to forget the smell after being cooped up in the confined space with him for the trip back to Coruscant.  
  
Mace Windu cleared his throat, as if to remind everyone that he was there and actually a part of the conversation.  
  
"Yes, well, you should all clean yourselves up before giving your report to the Council. We're all going to be very interested in finding out how the Librarian you were sent to retrieve ended up blowing himself up with a thermal detonator to save you from…"  
  
"Smugglers and slavers," Methos supplied helpfully.  
  
"Yeah!" one of the children, the Togruta, agreed.  
  
"They were bad guys. They wouldn't let Zetti have enough water, and she was getting sick!" The tiny human boy protectively hugged the Nautolan in question. "Master Methos saved us! So don't be mean to him!"  
  
The other four all nodded, with the Twi'lek loudly concurring in her own language.  
  
"I stand corrected," Master Windu remarked, brows raised.  
  
"Master Obi-Wan, can we find their families?" Anakin asked pleadingly. "Please? I know it won't be easy, but shouldn't we try?"  
  
Suddenly, everyone was looking at Obi-Wan. Through a display of exceptional willpower, he managed to resist the urge to run screaming for the door in the face of all that unvarnished hope (from the children and Anakin) and curiosity (from the other Jedi).  
  
"We're Jedi, Anakin. Guardians of peace and justice. Of course we'll try to find their families."  
  
"Yippee!" his padawan exclaimed with a remarkable lack of any expected Jedi dignity.  
  
Obi-Wan caught a brief expression of approval on Methos's face, but there was something else he felt through the Force. Sadness. For a bare moment, he sensed… like a steady gray rain on an equally-gray sea. Not turbulent and stormy, but profoundly deep, almost fathomless.  
  
As they parted ways, and Obi-Wan and Anakin returned to their quarters in the Temple, the young Knight pondered how much what he saw of Methos was a facade. And why Master Yoda seemed more pleased to see Methos than upset over the loss of Master Ness.  
  
Then again, this was likely going to end up being one of those grand mysteries of the universe.


	12. Getting the Band Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHORS NOTES: Evenmoor and I tag-teamed for this chapter. Because we each have clone characters in Methos Century that are near and dear to us, we've decided to show how Methos recruits them. Evenmoor writes the meetings for the clones she's created, I write them for mine.  
> The sections she wrote are the meetings for GIMBOL and GAFFER  
> The sections I wrote are the meetings for SNITCH and FLIGHT
> 
> As always comments, constructive critiques, and questions are always appreciated.

**CM-0112 - Gimbal**  
  
The clone who looked up from the medical readout on the bacta tank as Methos entered the medical wing was actually surprisingly old -- meaning, he was probably 13 standard years and looked around 26. Just about Methos's own apparent age, and therefore practically an honored elder as far as the younger generations of clones were concerned. A crescent-shaped tattoo framed his left eye near the temple, and his dark hair was shaved so close to the scalp that he was all but bald.  
  
"So you're the Jedi Sever was on about! I was half-wondering if he'd hit his head and done himself an injury, the way he was going," the clone grinned, casually ignoring the general sort of diffidence and propriety that other clones and the Kaminoans showed around Jedi. It was actually rather refreshing, Methos thought. "Did you really tell Tani Du and Fewa Sai where to shove their tiny heads and save Humble and 6389?"  
  
"More or less, yes." Methos answered the grin with one of his own. "I've been wanting to wring some of their over-long necks since I got here, but for now I'll settle for messing with their status quo. Call me Methos."  
  
"The name's Gimbal. I've been doing my best to look after the cadets after the Kaminoans decided it was more cost-effective to 'liquidate,' but my specialty is more battlefield medicine than what these poor kids need." Gimbal's tone was rueful, but the gratitude was plain as day on his face as he glanced at the small form suspended in the bacta tank next to him. "6389's looking better, and they've already taken Humble in for his first surgery to prep him for the cybernetics. Thanks for what you did. And thanks for making sure Sever didn't get liquidated, too. He's a good kid, and one day he'll be a great commander, but he's still just so shiny."  
  
"The young do all sorts of foolish things." Methos smirked, but he sincerely agreed with the clone's opinion about Sever; he saw such potential in him, and those half-witted idiot Kaminoans were just going to throw him out with the other two for standing up to them.  
  
"Even Jedi?"  
  
"Jedi are prone to foolishness no matter their age. How do you think I ended up playing a glorified secretary? A defective protocol droid could do my job."  
  
Gimbal actually burst into snickers before his face fell back into serious lines, a hopeful intensity lurking in his eyes.  
  
"What about the other cadets? I've known my fate since that first battle on Geonosis. Nothing but luck kept me and Gaffer alive when everyone else in our unit died around us. Every day we live is a gift. But our brothers here… so many of them are just so young, with more being incubated everyday. Is there anything you can do for them, like you did for Humble and 6389?"  
  
"I may be a Jedi Master," replied Methos, his expression turning sour, "but my influence within even the Order is sadly limited. Most of the Council certainly doesn't like me, however much they claim to be above such petty things as personal grievances and politicking. I'm reasonably certain I can convince them to let me get away with a plan I have in motion -- I don't know all of what Sever's told you -- but that would only give me a hundred men."  
  
"Well, if you succeed, that'll be a hundred of us who actually have a future. I assume that Sever's on this list?"  
  
"He is, as are Humble and 6389. Sever also gave me some other names to check into. The first two being a pair of old-timers called 'Gimbal' and 'Gaffer.'" Methos smirked. "Know where I might find them?"  
  
"Well, the last I heard, they were on Kamino, waiting to be attached to a new unit," Gimbal shrugged noncommittally. After a long moment, though, he dropped the facade and openly smiled. "If you're willing to go as far as you did for a couple of damaged cadets and a shiny, you can count me in."

 

* * *

 

  **CT-** **9499- Snitch**

Walking up to the barracks, Methos snorted as a young clone (who just happened to be loitering outside) coughed loudly before giving him a respectful nod. He returned the nod and continued until he came to rest at the barracks opening, giving the frame a polite knock. Inside, a few clones were playing cards while others casually relaxed in their berths.

Of course, to eyes that knew what to look for, you couldn't miss the fact that no one seemed quite sure what card game they were playing, and there were a few containers hastily shoved under the lower bunks. And every clone in the room but one seemed hyper-alert for people who were apparently enjoying a few moments of R&R.

Which was exactly why Methos was here.

"Can we help you with anything, sir?"

Methos gave the room another full glance before turning to look at that one clone in the barracks who was nothing but calm and collected.

"I'm looking for a Trooper named Snitch."  


The clone raised an eyebrow.  


"You need him for anything in particular, or is this just a social visit?"  


"Yes." Methos jerked his head, indicating down the hall. "I've got a little problem in need of a solution. Friend of mine said I should ask Snitch."  


The clone shrugged, tossing his data pad on the bunk before standing up and saluting.  


"Clone Trooper 9499, aka Snitch, at your service, General."  


"First, I'm _not_ a general," Methos corrected, making a face. "And for the love of all nine Sith hells, _don't_ salute me." He looked at the group at large, making sure he made eye contact with each clone. "When you ship out, never forget that droids are programmed to make commanders priority targets. Calling out 'sir' or 'General' and/or saluting in the field is the fastest way to get that person killed."   
He turned back to the trooper and held out a hand. "Name's Methos."  


Snitch took his hand, giving a wry smile. "Okay, Methos, what's this problem of yours?" 

* * *

 

"So, let me get this straight. You want me to break into the most secure data storage facility this place has so that you can snoop through Kaminoan intel?"  


"In a nutshell, yes. I’m good, but not that good. This is definitely a two man job."  


"Why this, and why me? Or is this tied into the reason why there's been an uprise in the clones that seem to think you're the Great Jedi Hope?"  


Methos snorted and rolled his eyes. Of course, he'd tried to keep what he was doing a secret, but the clones didn't just see each other as soldiers, they considered each other family. And news about family always traveled fast. Now, whenever he walked into a room he watched as every clone subtly (and desperately in some cases) tried to prove their worth to him.   
It made him want to gather them all up and run to some quiet part of the galaxy. It also made him want to hunt down the whole lot responsible for this mess and do something extremely un-Jedi like, which wouldn't do his current persona any good.  


No one should every feel they have to prove the worth of their existence. Methos sighed and leaned up against the wall, keeping some of his senses tuned to anyone who might be coming down the hall.  


"Yes, it does." He paused and turned to look at the man. "'Great Jedi Hope'?"  


Snitch regarded him dryly. "If 'Supreme Saviour of the Galaxy' is more to your tastes, I can stick with that."  


Methos shuddered. "Let's just agree to _never_ utter either of those phrases ever again." He shuddered again for good measure, then waved a hand. "Anyway, Gaffer said that when it comes to getting in, out, and around Kaminoan security there isn't anyone better than you. You've been running a virtual black market on everything from Core World sweets to current intelligence on the clones fighting on the front since before you needed to shave and that kind of clever deserves acknowledgement." Methos leaned in, making sure to look Snitch in the eyes. "I also know you've managed to change the active Trooper manifest the last three times to keep yourself from shipping out without anyone realizing it."  


He saw the look of panic flash across the clone's eyes, and Methos raised his hands calmingly to forestall the reaction.  


"Easy, I figured out your reasons. You're not the only one with a streak of espionage. I checked up on you and know enough to put two and two together. The Kaminoans, in their infinite wisdom, have a set average every clone has to achieve; otherwise they're placed in consideration for 'liquidation' or transfer to Maintenance Squad. Now, imagine my surprise when I found a hidden algorithm embedded in the system that automatically adjusts low scores so they place slightly above that average. Furthermore, that same algorithm happened to appear during a time one year ago when you were assigned to tech division and the training and monitoring of a younger batch of clones." Methos took a deep breath before he continued. "I also know that the program needs constant updating to stay hidden, and if you were to ship out, the system's antiviral countermeasures would locate and override you're coding within days… You're keeping your family safe- and taking one hell of a risk doing it."  


Methos smiled at Snitch and made sure it showed every emotion he felt behind it.  


"Two things you should know. One: you did good, and you've definitely coloured me impressed. Two: I had a friend create an evolving version of that program that would continuously upgrade itself, so your presence wouldn't be required. Considering you'll eventually get caught if you keep to the current version, installation is better done sooner than later. Right now, at this moment, I'm asking you to help me save a few more lives that your program isn't in place to help."  


Methos stepped back to give the clone space. What Snitch had been doing would get him killed, but the kid was good and knew how to cover his tracks. What Methos was asking him to do now was blatant and insane by comparison. After a second, the man nodded to himself and turned, walking away. Methos sighed and heaved himself off the wall, turning to leave and perhaps come up with another solution to get into this room. He jerked to a stop when he saw Snitch coming back with a compact scanner, a spanner, and a small, thick blade.  
Methos raised an eyebrow. Snitch waved a hand.  


"I take it you took care of the monitors in this section?"  


"They are currently running a thorough and lengthy systems check. We've got about a half hour to get in and out before they come back online."  
Snitch nodded then pointed at the security laden door.  


"This is a five tiered, bio-electronic, self analyzing security system. It runs more than 10,000 algorithms a minute, making an override completely impossible. It also includes no less than 20 redundant fail safes; each is designed to remote-trigger the automated defenses located in this wing should the system even suspect that it is being cracked. That's not even getting into the organic components within the program."  


Methos blinked.  


"So, this is going to be difficult."  


Snitch casually leaned against the wall right next to the control panels.

"It's impossible," the clone corrected him. "This system is incapable of being hacked. It's completely impenetrable. It can't be done."

With a calm smile, the man then drove his blade up to the hilt into the wall panel beside the control and twisted, cracking the seal and causing the panel to lift away from the wall. It took only a matter of seconds to remove it, exposing the wires and circuitry behind it. With a few waves of the scanner, Snitch located the circuitry he needed and used the spanner to splice into them.  


"However," he cheerfully continued explaining even as he worked, "the Carbo-Plas used for the walls and wires feeding into the system were chosen more for economy than impenetrability and can be removed and reset in a heartbeat. That means all I have to do is trigger the interior door’s override protocols to manually unlock the door and security from the other side. Guess that fact never occurred to our all-powerful great creators, because every door of every wing of this facility is the same."  


Snitch wormed his arm into the panel nearly up to his elbow. After a couple of adjustments there was a crack, an electrical hiss, a smell of ozone, and the door opened with a hiss. The clone turned back to smirk as he removed his arm.  


"And thus allowing a clone cadet to build his Information Exchange Empire," Methos grinned as he checked the internal security from the doorway.  


Snitch sniffed primly, mockingly austere.  


"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, _sir_."  


Methos studied the data storage systems as he pulled out his pad. Beside him, Snitch held out his arm, blocking his entrance into the room.  


"What exactly are you looking for?"  


"Information on the clones."  


"How much?"  


"All of it."  


Snitch whistled and nodded at the pad.  


"Then that's definitely a custom job." Methos hummed an agreement, beside him Snitch shrugged then continued. "Of course, if you really wanted to know all about the clone you could have just asked."  


Methos turned to look at him, and Snitch stared at him knowingly.  


"I keep key data files current and upgraded monthly. Considering that I also just tend to investigate the people involved rather than relying on computer stats and analysis, they're probably more reliable than anything you'll get here."  


Methos gazed thoughtfully at Snitch for a moment, and then snorted.  


"And the reason you didn't inform me of this beforehand?"  


"I didn't know. You said 'intel,' not 'I want to know about you lot'." Snitch rubbed the back of his head and looked almost sheepish. "And word's getting around about you. I know how to put two and two together, and I know how much I'm running on borrowed time and figured you'd be more impressed with a field demonstration than me simply jumping up and shouting 'I'm good for it, pick me!'."  


There was a brief moment of silence as Methos contemplated the clone. Finally, the Immortal gestured expressively at the room.   


"Well, then, it's time for the second part of this adventure. Help me get the upgrades to your program installed in here… And Snitch?" Methos smiled as Snitch looked back at him with a mixture of trepidation and hope. "Welcome to Century Squad."

* * *

 

**CT- 1332- Gaffer**

  _CRACK._

  
Methos blinked away the spots dancing in front of his eyes from the small but intense explosion.

  
"And that, cadets," the voice of a clone remarked with satisfaction, "is what happens when you _improperly_ repair a repulsorlift engine."

  
"Can we see that again?" a young voice asked eagerly.

  
Methos cleared his vision enough to take in the sight of a clone trooper surrounded by about a dozen or so young trainees, maybe ten years old in normal human terms. The trooper, who wore a pair of goggles atop his head, bore an impressively nasty scar across his right cheek, vanishing beneath his somewhat uneven dark hair. Bacta treatments had likely improved the scar's vicious appearance greatly; it was actually somewhat miraculous that the trooper had even survived such a close encounter with a blaster bolt to the head.  
The trainees didn't seem at all put off by the intimidating appearance of the scar, most likely because they were too busy being impressed by the trooper's ability to make things explode. (Plus the novelty of getting to meet one of their own who'd seen real combat, as opposed to training simulations.)

  
"Like blowing up training remotes, do you, Rhain?" the trooper asked mildly, though his eyes sparkled with good humor.

  
The trainee, Rhain, was about to reply when one of his fellows tugged on his sleeve and pointed out the Jedi lurking in the back of the room. All the trainees immediately snapped to attention.

  
"Sir!" they said in perfect unison. Methos would never get used to the nearly-identical faces all staring at him with that expression of awe and nervousness and literally inborn respect for his position.

  
"Oh, don't mind me. Carry on, whatever it was you were doing," he replied.

  
"Yes, sir," acknowledged the trooper. Hands clasped behind his back, he paced back and forth a couple of times as the now-nervous trainees turned back to him.

 "Blowing up training remotes is one thing. Just remember that the same tech that makes them fly is also used on everything from Larty gunships to starfighters to capital ships. The lives of you and your brothers might one day depend on you knowing how to fix a repulsorlift engine properly so it doesn't do what I just did. Now, get on, all of you, before your meal period is over."

  
The trainees practically dashed out the door like a battalion of battle droids was on their tail. Methos wasn't sure if it was because of his own presence or the reminder of food, but they vanished like a shot.

  
The trooper, who could only be Gaffer, immediately set to cleaning up the scattered fragments of the training remote.  


"Gimbal commed, said you'd probably be around to see me soon. He told me what you did for Sever and those two kids." The scarred clone dumped the scorched bits onto a nearby tray and then fixed an intense gaze on Methos.

 "Gimbal may be soft, even for a medic, but he reads people better than anyone I know, and he's my brother. Where he goes, I go."  


With that statement of finality, Gaffer turned his attention away from Methos and towards a power converter connected to an unidentifiable mass of wires and components he had apparently been working on before being ambushed by a mob of trainees. Pulling down his goggles, he grabbed an extra-delicate arc welder and set to whatever he was doing.  


Clearly, the conversation was concluded.

* * *

 

**CP- 2013- Flight**  
  
_"Repeat: catastrophic failure of the forward stabilizers! We are going down! Evacuate all personal located in projected crash zone!"_  
  
It was like something out of a nightmare. A lucky shot from an enemy craft had left the transport limping its way here on half power, the immediate threat believed handled. What damaged sensors failed to report was the same blast that had severed half their thruster capabilities also put a massive crack in the heat shield on the underside front of the craft, as well as creating a dangerous fuel leak.  
  
Methos watched from the ground as the craft twisted, the pilot valiantly fighting to keep out of a death spiral. But it got even worse. He turned to look at Gimbal, whose facial expression was every clone's standard mask of 'This is killing me but I will endure because I have to' stoicism.  
  
"How many?"   
  
"Full pay load; about 500 wounded," Gimbal replied tensely, grinding his teeth in a helpless frustration that undermined his outward calm.   
  
There was precious little anyone could do. No time to launch an aerial rescue, and there would be no point once they hit ground. No one could possibly survive the impact at the speed at which they were falling. Methos sighed and braced himself to do what he could from this distance. He jumped when a new voice burst out over the comms.  
  
"Topside, it's Flight! Does that wreck have **any** manoeuvring ability left?"  
  
"I've got a bit of control over roll, and slight bit of functioning pitch in the aft. Besides that, I'm flying a rock," Topside gritted out.  
  
"It'll do. You just keep that beast level and on course as best you can and I'll do the rest."  
  
Then Methos saw it: screaming towards the falling transport—at speeds Methos didn't know it could do breaking atmosphere—was a Kaminoan cargo vessel. He watched as the vessel adjusted course, coming up ahead and slightly under the craft. Methos realized the pilot's intention at about the same time as everyone else.  
  
"Flight, you really are a kriffing insane!" the transport pilot choked over the comms (at the exact same time Gimbal expressed a similar sentiment next to Methos on the ground, prompting an involuntary grin from the Immortal Jedi). "The Kaminoans are going to take the damage costs of that cargo out of your hide, **if** you miraculously don't get yourself killed!"  
  
"Awe, shucks, now you've gone and made me all nervous." Flight sounded perfectly calm, in spite of his words. Methos huffed a quiet laugh. "Those karkers can feel free to bill it out my ass any time they want."  
  
That made Methos blink. Most clones had a thing or two to say about the Kaminoans. Not one of them actually said it out loud—never mind on a broadband open channel. Methos shot a curious glance and a raised eyebrow at Gimbal, who shrugged as he watched the unfolding drama.  
  
"Flight's got the mouth of a merc and the social skills of a manic rancor. Kaminoans let it slide because of his test scores. Guess even they know the value in keeping top pilots within the GAR," the veteran clone medic said by way of explanation.  
  
Methos hummed thoughtfully as he watched the cargo vessel line up to the transport, matching its velocity before the comm system crackled back to life.  
  
"Topside, you tell your boys to brace and you use every bit of control you've got when I say 'mark'."  
  
Orders were shouted and then the cargo vessel edged up right up to the underside of the transport. For half a second it was almost graceful, until the pilot—Flight—shouted 'Mark', and every downward thruster on the cargo vessel roared to life. Metal shrieked in protest as the two ships warped and twisted around each other.  
  
Methos stood for another second, marveling at the sheer skill it would take to slow down and level out the medical transport's decent. Shaking himself internally, he reached out and drew his quickening around him, using the raw energy it provided to tune the Force into a wonderfully precise tool, pushing it up until it reached the two vessels above.  
  
He closed his eyes and stretched out his hands. His breath slowed as he reached out to the clones inside, wrapping protective barriers around them to shield already injured bodies against the worst of the flames and jolts. Then he focused on the cargo vessel, slipping between the fusing hulls and adding structural strength wherever he could. His mind brushed ever so slightly against the clone pilots and…  
  
And he felt— _something_. It was small, no more than a speck, but it reached back; different and interesting—somehow familiar. He brushed it aside for another time.  
  
Methos kept his eyes closed, focus entirely centered on the small bit of aid he could provide. But with his senses open to the Force and empowered by his own Immortal quickening, he saw everything.  
  
He saw the one called Flight wrestling controls and overriding safety protocols, adjusting for damage and shifts in the medical transport with a steadfast competence that bordered on unbelievable and a level of calm that bordered on the psychotic.  
He saw Topside coax every ounce of co-operation he could out of a ship that had nothing left to give. He felt the ships buck and twist and knew that the medical transport craft was dying even while the clones inside survived.  
  
But most of all, he felt how the little cargo ship was gaining ground. Sensed how the medical transport began to level out and its rate of decent went from 'flaming meteor' to 'too fast' and then to 'Sith Hells, they might actually walk away from this'. He opened his eyes to tell Gimbal as much, but the clone was already barking orders and rushing off to gather emergency supplies. Methos smiled in grim satisfaction and then grit his teeth to see this through to the end.   
  
As he heard the ships crash onto the landing pad, Methos collapsed to knees, panting from the exertion. But he knew two things for certain. The clone named Flight had just saved everyone on that transport by beating odds that not even the universe's most optimistic gamblers would bet on, and he was going to make damn sure that clone ended up under the banner of his squad.


	13. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AUTHORS NOTES: WRITTEN BY EVENMOOR. This chapter was written as a follow up to last chapters section about recruiting 'Flight' and our discussion on what Methos can do by accessing his quickening to super power the force- and what it would cost him to do so. Enjoy

Sever knew he would never forget the terrifying moment after he found Methos collapsed and unresponsive in the empty control room after the incident with the medical transport. In that first breath, the clone was convinced they'd somehow killed the Jedi Master. 

Now, the medical readout and Gimbal's calm words reassured him--and Humble and Snitch and the rest of the clones Methos had "collected" so far--that the seemingly-unbreakable and invincible Jedi still lived. 

It was impossible to tell just by looking at him. Face starkly pale, barely breathing, every vital sign depressed and barely registering… Sever fell back on his training and what Methos had termed "natural command ability" to convince the rest of Methos's chosen Century that their Jedi was going to be just fine, despite appearances. 

"Jedi aren't invincible," Gimbal told Sever after everyone else had left. "Back on Geonosis, I saw so many die. They want to do good, but they've got no common sense. Survival instincts of a suicidal gundark, you see. That's why they need us. He was using the Force, I think, to help the boys on that transport. Everyone one of them came through okay, thanks to him. But that sort of thing takes a toll. Even on Methos."

Later, Methos woke up and everything really was fine, but Sever held onto that realization of the fragility of the lives of even Jedi after that moment.  
Some years later, Sever lay half-asleep (and fully drunk) after the Order 66 fiasco and the brain chips and killing Master Methos and Methos turning out to be unkillable--

Sever's eyes snapped open.

"Why, that son of a--"


	14. An Immortal in Jedi Robes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHORS NOTES: Been a while, hasn’t it?!  
> You’ll notice a change in Yoda’s speech patterns halfway through. They’re speaking in his native tongue. While Yoda’s speech might be stilted while speaking Basic, I think he’s much more elegant in his own language.
> 
> Thanks again to Evenmoor for being an awesome support, and an excellent Beta. She makes me look good. :D

His walk to the garden had been slow and measured a strained shamble under a crippling load. Others merely perceived his pace as the dignity of his station, fooled by centuries of practice. He sighed as came up to his preferred spot, shifting up onto the rock and slipping into a comfortable position. Then he simply looked up into the simulated starry sky overhead.  
  
He had witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations across the galaxy, had watched as countless generations of friends lived and died. He'd even observed birth of some stars and the death of others. Through it all he strove to never lose the youthful wonder of the universe around him.  
  
But listening in horror as he was told of Pong Krell and the carnage the fallen Jedi unleashed on the clones he swore to protect and lead; hearing daily about the uncountable deaths from a war that should never had started, and knowing they had no choice but to continue... he simply felt _old_.  
  
Yoda sighed again and scratched at the ground with his cane, his ears drooping. Old, yes. He felt old, and desperately worn out.  
  
"You're brooding very loudly tonight, Muadhnait."  
  
"Long it has been since that name I heard."  
  
"It's been a while since you needed to hear it."  
  
Yoda looked up as Methos sat down cross-legged on the ground beside him, allowing their faces to be level. The older man smiled gently as he put a comforting arm around his shoulders, a simple gesture no other Jedi dared, not with the respected Grandmaster of the Order.  
  
"You can fool the children all you want, but your façade of brave stoicism is showing its cracks." Methos shrugged his free shoulder even as his smile turned morose. "This war is killing everyone- _especially_ the ones left alive. Considering your habit of adopting every Jedi in this temple from crèche on, and probably the clones given half a chance, well… Not all mortal wounds are visible."  
  
Methos squeezed his shoulder and Yoda leaned into the man, seeking comfort he couldn't ask for from the family that needed to see him resolute and steadfast so that they could draw from his strength. He'd long ago sworn to protect what he held dear, and he would not fail them in this. He would give them everything; he was giving them everything. A tap on his side drew his attention back to Methos.  
  
"Even a metaphorical death by a thousand cuts is still a death. If you don't let someone treat those injuries as they come, you're going to die. Maybe not physically, but I've always considered death of the soul a far worse crime." Methos pulled him closer, comforting him as a Master would a Padawan. "I am here, and you are safe. There is nothing you can say or feel that will make me think less of you. So _say and feel_ it."  
  
Yoda closed his eyes as Methos wrapped his Force presence around him, holding him near and protected even as he created a shield that allowed Yoda to drop his own. Yoda gasped at the overwhelming sensation of Methos' being- as if surrounded by the infinite miniaturized. Timeless and ever-changing; rage and serenity in perfect balance. Not like space, with its vast emptiness only sprinkled with tiny oases of visible matter. More like the sea: storm and fury, tranquility and peace. A glittering surface hiding unfathomable depths. It made Yoda feel small in a way that had nothing to do with his stature. He was a child, scared and in pain. He inhaled deeply, almost hoarsely, as he listened to the cadence of his people's language smoothly uttered by the older man.  
  
"There is no shame here, Little One. Anger at injustice and atrocity is a righteous anger; so be angry. Overwhelming love for the family you raised is an honest love; so allow yourself to show that love. Fear for this damn ever-present darkness is a survivor's trait; so let instinct hone your fear. Pain at the toll this war is taking is a healing pain; acknowledge it. Rage at the universe, grieve at its unfairness, and weep for the good people it has taken… It's time to treat these thousand cuts and let the poison out; it is time to _heal_."  
  
And Yoda did as his elder asked.  
  
He gave up his role as leader, protector, and guide- temporarily passing that mantle onto the older Master whose side he burrowed into as the anger, grief, and anguish he'd held in check for months got the acknowledgment it screamed for. One by one he pulled the barbs from his psyche and stitched the festering wound as Methos continued to hold him, the arm around him a firm and unwavering support against his back.  
  
It certainly wasn't the typical coping method taught by the Order but then neither of them had ever been typical, and Yoda remembered when it was another creed that guided their ways.  
Emotion, **yet** peace  
Ignorance, **yet** knowledge  
Passion, **yet** serenity  
Chaos, **yet** harmony  
Death, **yet** the Force  
(And he was old enough to know that change was necessary and often good... but not always.)  
  
Eventually Yoda pulled away from Methos' side, the old Master removing his arm and withdrawing some, but not all, of his support in the Force. He rubbed his face, letting his outer features settle at the same time as his inner psyche, than looked at his elder.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Methos nodded. "Unnecessary, but you're welcome."  
  
For a few moments they sat in silence. Yoda allowed his mind wander to long-ago memories and chuckled as one he hadn't thought of in countless years came to the front. Beside him Methos rolled his eyes towards him.  
  
"What?"  
  
Yoda shook his head.  
  
"Simply remembering our first meeting. You called me an 'undersized green troll' when I found out you were smuggling stolen Republic rations to Slave Resistance cells within the Outer Rim."  
  
The older man hummed thoughtfully. "I was nobler back then."  
  
Yoda raised an eyebrow. "You shot me."  
  
" **At** you… I shot **at** you. There is a significant difference." He smiled. "Besides, if memory serves, you ended up helping me complete that mission and erased the evidence from Senate records."  
  
Yoda paused and then stared at the man as his ears twitched. "I was nobler back then."  
  
"You were a cocky little brat who thought a Force signature, a laser sword, and an ounce of intelligence was all you needed to solve the universe's problems," Methos contradicted him unrepentantly. "Granted, an ounce of intelligence is far greater than what most of the universe runs on, so I was more than willing to let you give it a try."  
  
"Yes, I remember your parting advice." Yoda let out a ghost of a laugh. He tilted his head in thought as he looked at Methos. "I don't remember you having a Force presence back then."  
  
"Eh, I had a damn good reason to keep a tight lid on it at that point in my life. Sure, small doses were useful in a fight, but I really didn't want the attention. Besides, even if you had felt it... it wouldn't have had the same signature when I joined the Order, so it would've been hard to recognize. I was a different person back then." He paused. "Then again, so were you; so maybe you could have."  
  
Yoda looked down, using his cane to once again scratch symbols in the ground. Finally he looked back up to the lightening sky and sighed.

"I despise this war and everything it represents. It is one thing to loose family to time and circumstance, it's another entirely to watch the young suffer and die for a war I'm not certain we can win."  
  
"Maybe we can, maybe we can't… Maybe this is a war we shouldn't even fight."  
  
Yoda turned to him, eyes and ears raised; Methos waved him away.  
  
"Oh, don't look at me like that. We've had that argument too many times and I'm not rehashing it now. All I'm saying is that there's no easy solution. I wish that there was, but I've seen too much to even attempt that kind of hyperbole… But I'm here when you need me, Little One." Methos turned, reaching out a hand placing it on his shoulders. "Please don't wait so long next time. You're not in this alone, and I don't like seeing younglings in pain any more than you do."  
  
"Youngling?"  
  
Methos's grin tightened slightly as he gave a half-smile.  
  
"Youth is a matter of perspective, remember." He gave one more brief squeeze and then stood up with a grunt, switching back to Basic as he spoke. "Now, I'm sorry to rush off, but I've got a mission brief with Sever and Apex, then somehow have to convince my wonderful bunch of crazies that thermal detonators are not in fact a legal Senate greeting. No matter how much I might wish they were. I also have to convince Windu to come with me to the Senate, where I will requisition the Republic to build me a ship to exact specifications… I not exactly sure which of those three will be the greater miracle to pull off."  
  
Yoda chuckled as he waved a hand, dismissing Methos's apology. He was one of the few people fully aware of how much the man did behind the scenes. He suspected that the man did much more than even Yoda was aware of, but the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order knew better than to ask.  
  
"To each a part we must play. Master Windu and Republic leave to me, better success perhaps I will have compared to you, I think."  
  
Methos nodded in thanks, and Yoda held up a forestalling hand with a smile.  
  
"Before you go, any parting wisdom for this Padawan might you have?"  
  
Methos gave him another smile. One of his few truly honest ones; where the masks he wore as naturally as clothes became semi-transparent, revealing ever-so-briefly a portion of the being behind the man. He was allowing a small connection to remain as he pulled back behind his impressive shields. Methos shrugged as he backed towards the door.  
  
"Same as its always been, Muadhnait. Same as it always will be."  
  
Yoda chuckled and nodded knowingly at the man and he turned and left the room, thinking back to Methos' parting words from so long ago.  
  
_"Live, grow stronger, fight to survive another day…"_  
  
Yoda remembered thinking at the time the advice to be wholly simplistic and foolish. But he'd been nothing more than a child back then. He chuckled again to himself as he looked up the bright sky, the replicated stars nears lost in the light. He recognized the constellations, remembered looking at them as a youngling and dreaming of going to each and every one of them. He took a deep breath and let it out, feeling lighter than he had in months.  
  
The grief and loss was still present, but bearable. After all, he was not alone. And the stars overhead (the ones that had been there before him and would continue well after) still sang out in the Force.  
  
And briefly, for the tiniest moment, Yoda once again felt _young_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUN FACT: Muadhnait is Celtic. I borrowed it for Yoda's language because I love the translation. It's translation means 'Noble/Good' with a diminish tagged to it. The diminish is a reference to a slight frame and youth. So the exact translation is 'Little Noble One'- with it generally being used as 'Little One'- such as when speaking to a beloved child. (I love language. I especially love that Methos would choose this for Yoda. The 800 year old Grandmaster of the Jedi Order.)
> 
> I have a very strong opinions about Yoda. Biggest one is that is NOT in fact a stoic robot. I just think as leader of the Order he has to appear a lot more put together than he actually felt during the clone wars. After all, if the Order saw him losing his sh*t, what exactly is that going to inspire them to do.  
> METHOS is not only a lot older than him, he's also under no illusions about what this is doing to a person who has a hand in training all these Jedi from the creche. I don't see Methos playing Master to a Padawan (in fact, he has a hard and fast rule that the council never ask him to), I do think he does fill the role of 'teacher' whenever (and to whoever) he feels it's necessary.


	15. No Fair Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER IS NOT WRITTEN BY ME. 
> 
> This is another wonderful addition by Evenmoor. So if your reading her 'Methos, Master of the Force' series and am wondering why this seems so bloody familiar- that's why. Included with full permission from Evenmoor.

 

"You sure this is a good idea, walking out in the open like this?" Sever asked in an undertone. It wasn't that he didn't trust Master Methos. Quite the opposite. But this sort of blatant, in-full-view parade march down the center of the street definitely ran contrary to every bit of training they'd had after Methos took them from Kamino.

"The Separatist forces here aren’t exactly playing it subtle, even for a droid army. We’d hear them coming long before they got here. I'm rather more concerned about the troopers who shot down Ochi's recon drone. If we attempt to make a surreptitious approach ourselves at this point, they'd probably start firing on principle if they even got a glimpse of us. While I wouldn't blame them, getting shot by our own men would hardly improve our day. I know it seems counter-intuitive, but at the moment, those two dozen men are a bigger threat to us than the thousands of droids a mile away."

It made some sort of sense, Sever admitted. Those troopers were cut off from the bulk of the GAR forces, vastly outnumbered and without any reasonable hope of rescue. They'd probably be firing at anything that moved. If, on the other hand, the Century approached openly, it might give the other troopers enough pause to realize that they were friendlies, _brothers_.

Sever noticed, though, that Master Methos's hand was ready for the lightsaber hidden in his sleeve just above the wrist. Just in case someone felt trigger-happy. Silently, he cursed the Seppie jammers; it would've been much easier to simply tell the other troopers they were here. On the other hand, their presence wasn't exactly supposed to be advertised, either.

The Century wouldn't show up on the GAR heads-up displays in their helmets, even without the jammers and the Seppies' habit of messing with the IFF signals for normal troopers. Not that the Century was normal, in any event. Not their gear, not their training, not their Jedi.

So, yes, marching down a street in the middle(ish) of a war zone made Sever a bit nervous.

Abruptly, Methos signaled them to stop. He had that vaguely distant expression that Sever had learned to recognize. So, they were close and he could sense the other troopers.

“Alright, boys, buckets off,” Sever ordered the others. “Let’s show ‘em we’re friendlies.”

It was a very long minute or so as they simply loitered in the street, helmets in their hands and blasters loose. Hotspot looked antsy, but he was always that way. Cabur and Rime might as well have been carved from stone, despite their nerves. Rue tapped his fingers on his helmet anxiously, while Ochi managed somehow to appear completely comfortable. Sever suspected he was just as nervous as the rest of them, just much better at hiding it. This wasn’t the Century’s first mission in the field, but it was definitely the first time they faced the threat of actual combat.

“Well, if they decide to shoot us anyway, at least Thing 1 and Thing 2’ll have the ‘I told you so’ privileges,” Gimbal remarked blandly, adjusting the heavy medical pack he carried. Of all of them, he was the least armored; despite that, he was certainly the best protected, courtesy of the salvaged droideka shield Gaffer had somehow repaired and retrofitted. The thing sucked power cells like water, but made field medicine a lot less chancy for both Gimbal and his patients. That didn’t stop Gaffer from hovering protectively next to him, though.

“Come on, Gimbal, they wouldn’t dare shoot us.” Ochi grinned broadly, though Sever noted that his eyes kept scanning the area. “It’d ruin the Centurion’s brilliant strategy, and they’d never hear the end of it.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Next mission, you get to run solo and come up with the brilliant strategies!” Methos smirked at Ochi’s expression of mock-dismay before glancing upwards. “Heads up.”

Sever caught a flicker of movement in a darkened window, an indistinct pale form half-hidden by the shadows inside.

“You got three seconds to identify yourselves before we start shooting!” called a familiar voice, a brother’s voice.

They had found the troopers, it seemed.

“We’re your reinforcements!” Methos called back.

“Where’d you come from?” demanded the trooper before Methos could explain anything further. “There weren’t any other battalions in the area! And you’re not in uniform, either! How do we know you’re not part of some kind of Seppie trick?!”

“Look at our faces, soldier! We’re clones, just like you!” Sever took a step forward, turning his face up towards where he knew the trooper was hidden. “My name’s Sever, and we’re the 6-8, Century--”

“You’re the Century?” There was a brief, almost incredulous pause. “You don’t even look old enough to be in the field, let alone command a company! And the Century’s just a story to tell the shinies fresh from Kamino! A myth!”

“We’re real enough. Got a real Jedi, too. Now how about you lower your weapons before you not-so-mythically shoot us?” Sever asked pointedly.

 

* * *

 

Twenty-four men. That’s how many the recon drone spotted. What it hadn’t told them was how bad off they were. As they entered the makeshift hideout, they found themselves the targets of painful expressions of mixed disbelief, hope, and relief, even before Methos, Gimbal, and Rue broke out the medical supplies.

They were from the 501st, as it turned out, and seemed mollified (more or less) when they realized that while Sever might be young, especially for a clone commander, he was accompanied by both older troopers who respected him and a genuine Jedi. Though perhaps in their current condition, they’d rather not argue with assistance, whatever the form it came in.

The troopers weren’t quite a shambles, but definitely close to it. Two dozen men, Master Methos had said, and he’d been right, though most of them were injured to one degree or another, and two of them would’ve almost certainly died without immediate treatment. He and Gimbal took these two, while Rue checked on the wounds of the other men.

Then there were the six bodies laid out off to the side, too.

It was the first time Sever and Snitch performed the Mandalorian Death Rites for their brothers in the field. Neither of them stumbled over the words, even as the troopers from the 501st gave them curious glances. Well, the ones that weren’t too busy dealing with their own injuries, or staring at Sever, Methos, and the others like they were ghosts.

How the Century had reached mythic status amongst the clones so quickly was no real mystery to Sever; after all, Methos had hand-picked every man in the unit on Kamino, and then they all just left one day. Snitch had actually kept up with the rumor mill about the Century, which provided a measure of entertainment during their precious few personal hours in the training hell that followed.

“Never engage in a fair fight if at all possible” might be Methos's personal motto, followed closely by “If you must fight, fight to win,” supplemented by “If you can’t win, survive -- grow stronger and fight another day.”

Kark, half the Century still hadn’t finished their training, leaving only fifty-three men for this little jaunt to Christophsis. With Apex, Flight and the others left back at the ship, they only numbered _forty-_ three. It’d been the right choice, leaving Apex behind -- there wasn’t any clone Sever would trust more to guard the ship if it was attacked -- but at this moment Sever wished for every gun he could have.

Even with the added manpower of the three squads from the 501st, they could only boast a bare sixty-five able to fight; and they were still cut off from the rest of the GAR forces, with thousands of battle droids in between.

Now was no time for a fair fight.

“Gimbal, you take these two on the speeder back to the ship, and send Thing 1 and Thing 2 back,” Methos ordered as he stood up from treating the two worst injured troopers. “They’re perfect for what I have in mind, and they might light me on fire if they missed it. Plus, we’ll need a few things from the ship.”

Oh, yes. _That_ expression Sever knew all too well. This was _definitely_ not going to be a fair fight.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t long before the speeder returned, Thing 1 and Thing 2 for once in full clone trooper regalia and looking just as shiny as the day they left Kamino. (The twins had incinerated their original armor not long after. With the power cells still in them. That had been an interesting training mission.)

In place of the two critically injured 501st troopers, the speeder now carried the supplies they needed. Methos’s plan was definitely insane, there was no doubt about it. No wonder he wanted Thing 1 and Thing 2 for this; this was right up their alley.

Sever would be in charge of their high ground, a perch in a nearby tower. He’d have ten men, all the best shots in the Century, armed with an assortment of sniper rifles of rather mixed origin. Rime certainly seemed excited (as excited as Rime ever got, anyway) to try out his shiny new DC-17m in the field. He was the only one with a GAR BlasTech rifle, though. The rest of them, Sever included, wielded a motley collection of weapons that wouldn’t be out of place in a bounty hunter’s armory. That did not, however, make them any less effective, or deadly.

Led by Ochi, the majority of the clones, including the twenty or so able-bodied troopers from the 501st, lined windows on the upper floors of buildings on either side of the wide boulevard.

That left Methos, Thing 1, and Thing 2 to do their part, backed by ten men from the Century in very obvious GAR armor, hastily touched up with the 501st’s blue highlights for the sake of consistency. It wouldn’t do for the enemy to realize that they had new guests at the party, after all. (There were, of course, promises to remove the markings afterwards. Brothers were very proprietary about that sort of thing.)

Sever settled into position in the sniper’s nest with Rime, Snitch and the others and waited. Peering through his scope, he observed the progress Methos’s team made as they drew near the rear lines of the droid forces. In the distance, he saw the massive shield that protected the bulk of the Seppie forces as they marched slowly but implacably towards the even-more-distant GAR defenders. Methos had to make his move soon if there was to be any hope of drawing off the rear guard before the main force reached the Republic line.

As Sever watched, Methos turned around for a moment and gave him a thumbs-up.

“This is it, boys,” Sever said aloud, but even a brief glance would tell that his sniper team was already set, eyes fixed on distant targets through their own scopes. They were ready for this.

Then came the signal.

Methos and the clones burst into plain view of the marching clankers, three lightsabers igniting in the hands of the Jedi, Thing 1, and Thing 2. The twins had removed their buckets and were now wearing generic brown cloaks over their armor; as far as the relatively stupid battledroids were concerned, they had just been flanked by three Jedi and a fresh squad from the 501st. They didn’t process that two of the “Jedi” were actually holding the sabers _away_ from their bodies and had blasters in their free hands.

Not that it would’ve done the first rank any good, anyway. Their only warning of any danger came by way of a volley from the snipers, taking out the “officer” droids, followed by a rapid barrage from Methos’s squad.

Sever could just imagine the tinny shouts of “Look, Jedi! Blast them!” from the clankers as the fight began. Then came the carefully-orchestrated “retreat.” Covered by Sever and the snipers, Methos and the squad fell back towards the boulevard where the rest of the troopers lurked. Focused as he was on the droids, Sever missed the moment when the twins ducked out to ditch the cloaks, deactivate the lightsabers, and retrieve their buckets, but their part of the plan had already gone off without a hitch, aside from a glancing hit to Cabur’s shoulder. At least they hadn’t managed to chop off their own feet, or Methos’s.

Methos blocked bolt after bolt as his men lured the clanker rear guard away from the rest of the Seppie army, though it seemed for every droid Sever and his snipers blasted to scrap, two or three more would be there to take its place. Plus, from this angle and distance, there was little the snipers could do about the armored assault hover tanks.

Fortunately, that was why they had Gaffer. Combat engineers were a wonderful thing -- as long as they were on _your_ side.

The AATs and the droids inside discovered the trap all too late when their repulsorlift engines triggered the hidden electromagnetic landmines concealed in debris on the street. Limited range, but devastating effectiveness against droids when you could lure them into position.

Then Ochi and the rest opened fire, completing the ambush.

The droids were utterly bewildered by the sudden turn of events. What had seemed to them like a simple but necessary mop-up action had transformed instantly into a demolition derby, with blaster bolts raining down on them from every direction.

With the tanks completely immobilized and useless, the droids tried to counter with shielded droidekas, only to have them blasted mid-roll one after another by Sever’s snipers before they could get into position to fire back.

Methos and his squad, meanwhile, had taken cover and gleefully joined in the devastation. The Jedi seemed perfectly content to stay back and simply block any blaster bolts directed their way, rather than leaping into the fray, the better to avoid accidentally getting hit by friendly fire.

For what seemed like an eternity, Sever’s mind focused solely on targeting, aiming, firing, finding the next target. Until, abruptly, only shattered, smoking wreckage filled the street.

Next to Sever, Rime sat back and pulled off his bucket, his lips curling with satisfaction as he clapped a comradely hand on the shoulder of Snitch, who grinned back broadly after removing his own helmet.

“Did we just do that?” the other clone asked aloud.

“Oh, yeah. We just did that,” Rime assured him.

Sever allowed himself to revel momentarily in the emotional thrill, though there was a nagging voice that reminded him that they were lucky this time and were able to lead the enemy precisely where they needed to be to pull off the ambush.

_Oh, kriff off_ , he told the voice. _We were also just that **good**._

But the battle wasn’t won yet. There was the tiny matter of the main force protected by the energy shield, drawing perilously close to the GAR line.

As if in answer to Sever’s thought, the sound of a distant explosion reached them… just in time for them to see the shield protecting the droid army vanish into nothingness. This was followed quickly by a swift series of further explosions: the 501st’s artillery wasted no time, it seemed, making short work of the now-vulnerable droids.

“Huh. That went pretty well, I think,” Sever remarked to no one in particular.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WRITTEN BY EVENMOOR. A wonderful look at how Methos ended up the Star Wars universe.  
> Methos finally faces his death. Something very unexpected happens. Heavily influenced by the Rebels animated series

"They say you're Death. They worship you. Think _you are_ holy ground. Let's test that."

Methos opened his eyes, much to his surprise. No sword at his neck. Not dead.

Also definitely _not_ where he was.

A vast… darkness surrounded him. Physics-defying paths led off in many directions. He could feel this place, buzzing in his mind as much as any Immortal. And the voices…. Voices echoed around him.

_...robbed these smugglers, but not just of slaves..._

_Luminous beings are we…_

_…guardians of peace and justice..._

_Good soldiers follow orders…_

_You bought a militia!_

This place. Where _was_ he?!


End file.
